


Peaches, Apples, and Other Forbidden Fruit

by jamgrl



Series: Peaches, Apples, and Other Forbidden Fruit [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 10-year slow burn, Aziraphale POV, Blue Ridge/Appalachia to be precise, Carolina!Crowley, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Humans AU, Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), Internalized Biphobia, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Pansexual!Crowley, Pining, Podfic Available, Southern AU, SouthernBelle!Aziraphale, an assortment of angels and demons, and references to drug addiction, bisexual!Aziraphale, except they are sorority girls, it’s a university au for the first half but then they graduate okay!, it’s the American South y’all, oh my god they were sorority sisters, questioning!Aziraphale, romcom vibes, university au (sort of), warnings for:, yes there will be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 54,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22856812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamgrl/pseuds/jamgrl
Summary: They were sorority sisters...And then they weren’t.They were roommates...And then...they weren’t.They werebestfriends.And then…Sometimes love is like molasses. It moves slow, it’s dark as night. It’s sticky and it’s hard to swallow.But, boy is it sweet.(Zira is a Southern girl looking for a best friend. She didn’t know she would find something even better.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Peaches, Apples, and Other Forbidden Fruit [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643149
Comments: 192
Kudos: 116





	1. Southern Girl

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank [Beckers522](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckers522/pseuds/Beckers522) and [Nadzieja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadzieja/pseuds/Nadzieja), for betaing parts of this work. Extra special thanks to my partner who, despite having 0 interest in Good Omens or fanfiction in general, helped me as well and listened to me go on and on about this fic for months. As he often likes to remind me, he is my rock and I am ever thankful for his love and support.
> 
> I grew up in Georgia and live in North Carolina, so get ready for some authentic Southern content. I am thrilled to be writing Ineffable Wives because I just need more Ineffable Wives in my life. If you have any artistic ability whatsoever, I want to see your Ineffable Wives art!
> 
> [Podfic by Yours Truly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22857148/chapters/54630994)! Posted along with the written chapters.
> 
> (There are a total of 17 chapters, and one reflective pause.)

_Prologue_

**August 2010** **_(Freshman Year)_ **

**Western Carolina University**

**Cullowhee, North Carolina**

The floral scent of Zira’s Mary Kay moisturizer calmed her nerves as she gently smoothed it over her face in front of the little dorm mirror in the corner of her room.

The scent reminded her of the honeysuckle in her backyard, the sweet flavor of the nectar from flower stamens that she used to suck on as a little girl. They always filled the air with a smell like jasmine and vanilla, the aroma that colored the springs of her childhood. It was a familiar smell, and in such an unfamiliar place, familiar felt good. 

Zira took a deep breath as she looked at herself in the mirror. The dim light of early morning cast lines on her round face. They were left by the crooked blinds of the one window that wasn’t blocked by the bunk bed she shared with her roommate.

She was pretty enough, wasn’t she? It didn’t help that her blonde waves were being loosely held back by a scrunchie at the moment, so that they hung uglily at the base of her neck. She would style them later, after she put on the mask of makeup that she didn’t dare let the world see her without. That was why she was up so early, trying her best not to wake her sleeping roommate.

She delicately unclicked the lock of her bright pink makeup caddy, opening it as soundlessly as she could. Now, to work.

She’d only been on campus a week. It had been a few days of orientation (which should have been called basic training, with how much they had marched her and her hallmates around) and then they’d had syllabus days for all of their classes. 

It was only Saturday, but she had already filled her thick girly planner with all of the relevant information from each of her syllabi, color coding her entries and triple checking them. If there was anything her momma had taught her, it was that a planner was a girl’s best friend.

It was nice, filling the planner. It felt like something she could control.

She’d learned a lot of the names of her hallmates, but she had felt odd and awkward all week. She didn’t know how to make friends, really. Everyone she’d known back in Macon, she’d known since she was a little girl. She’d never had to meet new people, not really. 

She’d hoped she and her roommate would be instant best friends, but no such luck. Her roommate was sort of cold and seemed to write her off immediately. Zira was heartbroken.

What she desperately wanted, she realized, was a bosom friend.

When she was a little girl, her favorite book had been _Anne of Green Gables_. Anne had this funny concept she talked about in the book: the concept of bosom friends. Zira had always blushed when she read the words. “Bosom” sounded naughty, even to a girl who’d had to learn very early how to get used to things like growing breasts and periods. She’d been the first girl in her class to start wearing a bra and she’d gotten her first period before they’d even started learning about them in school. It wasn’t fair for a ten-year-old to have to deal with that stuff. But her momma had told her she was lucky because she knew the secrets of womanhood and got to be part of a special club. 

Zira didn’t want to be part of a special club. She wanted to be like the other kids. But the other kids teased her, so she hid in her books.

Anne was her first bosom friend. A bosom friend was a friend that you could share all your deepest secrets with, a friend who knew the shape of your very soul. Her bosom friend was fictional, but that didn’t make her any less important.

Now, though, Zira hoped she could find a real life one. Or maybe several. A sorority would be good for that, she thought.

The really beautiful thing about being in a sorority would be that she wouldn’t have to worry if her sorority sisters were her friends. They would be her _sisters_. Which meant she could be sure of their bond and sure they wouldn’t go away. 

So, a sorority was definitely the best way to go, and the best way to find her bosom friends. She just had to get into one. And remember not to say the words ‘bosom friend’ out loud during rush.

Finished with her makeup, she pulled out the scrunchie and let her waves cascade over her shoulders. She thought her hair was her best feature, thick and light blonde, falling just past her shoulder blades. She liked to keep it long- when she cut it short, it transformed into unmanageable ringlets. 

Her daddy had said she would be a snow bunny, now that she was living in the mountains. She wasn’t too far from Boone, where her family used to take ski trips any time there was a good snow. Her daddy had said she would be a sight to behold on the slopes, now that she was a woman, and that she should let the boys down easy. She didn’t think that would be a problem. Anyways, skiing wasn’t her thing.

Zira pawed at her hair, trying to smooth it with her fingers, in an attempt to create the illusion of natural volume. She didn’t need the frizz or the poofiness that was sure to form if she pulled a hairbrush through it. She gathered the top of her hair and formed a subtle little bump, securing it with several Bobby pins. She finished the look with her favorite butterfly pin. The little gold butterfly would bring her luck, she thought. 

The dress code for the first day of rush was sun dresses, which Zira was very happy about. The dress code for the second day was shorts and a tank top, which she was not happy about. She didn’t want her thighs to be exposed and tank tops didn’t look right on her. Her boobs were just too big. But she would cross that bridge when she came to it. She might not even make it to day two, so why worry about it now?

She had several Lilly Pulitzer dresses, any of which would be suitable for today. She decided to go for the cream one with a scalloped coral pattern: sophisticated, she thought. Just as long as she remembered not to sit in the grass. She padded into some braided gold sandals, which showed off the pedicure she had gotten the day before her parents had driven her up through the Appalachians to drop her off at school. She was thankful that she had thought to get a mani-pedi. She had no idea when her next chance would be, carless as she was. The smooth polish gave her a little more confidence. She wasn’t thin, so she knew every little thing counted when it came to getting a sorority to pick her.

There was nothing else she could do. With a deep, steadying breath, she was ready to venture into the misty mountain morning and meet her rush group at the dorm entrance.

It was that day, in the breezy, sunny afternoon, after having visited five sorority houses and after having begun to feel faint from all the standing, that she met _her_ in the middle of sorority court.

She saw her first, across the wet grass, rifling through the cart of snacks that was set up for the girls going through rush. The sight of her made Zira stop in her tracks. Zira didn’t understand why she felt her palms sweating or why her face felt hot or why her heart began palpitating. 

She also didn’t have any idea at the time how important that girl would be in her life. If someone had told her, she might have laughed. Whether that would have been because the girl she saw was the most drop-dead gorgeous thing she had ever seen or because the girl looked completely out of place among all the preppy college freshmen in their pastel dresses, she couldn’t have said.

At that moment, though, all she could do was stand frozen in the muddy grass, out of breath, heart beating a mile a minute, her hair blowing in her face and sticking to her strawberry lip-gloss, as she stared openly at the girl wearing a black bodycon dress with skin exposed by the triangular cutouts at her waist. The girl had legs for days, but instead of nice shoes, she was wearing what could only be categorized as black combat boots. Pretty bold move for Day 1 of rush, if you asked Zira.

She didn’t know it yet, but that wild curly red hair and that mischievous smile would plague her dreams for years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter is named for a country song, which will be added to this [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2Bcd21Uxlvc7NtK1nXMYLZ?si=pfO9idYZSSqr3AQ4S99OLg) as each chapter is posted and which will be individually named at the end of each chapter.
> 
> This chapter’s song: Southern Girl, Tim McGraw


	2. Sorority Girl

Where were we? Let’s set the stage.

Zira was in her first week of college.

It was her first day of rush.

She’d visited 5 sorority houses and mindlessly chatted with girl after girl hoping, _hoping_ they would like her.

She was tired.

The tiredness had to be the explanation. The explanation for why she had stopped in her tracks, becoming entranced by the girl which she didn’t know yet would be important to her. 

She _did_ know that she was feeling light-headed and flustered and she was vaguely aware that her body was behaving _very strangely._

“You okay?” Mikayla asked, breaking Zira out of her trance enough for her to turn to Mikayla in confusion.

Mikayla was in Zira’s rush group, so they had walked to the Greek Village together and were visiting all the houses together. She was also a member of Zira’s freshman dorm, so Zira had known her for about a week. That didn’t mean much, though, as they had barely spoken outside of the icebreaker games the orientation leaders made them play.

“Fine. Sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” Zira responded, once Mikayla’s words registered in her brain.

“Eyeing the snacks, right? I have been dying to go over there, but I didn’t want to go alone. Go together? We have to look like we are good at making friends, right?”

Mikayla didn’t seem to really be giving Zira a choice, because she looped her arm though Zira’s without waiting for confirmation and trudged forward, pulling Zira along.

Zira acquiesced easily because she agreed: she wanted to look like she had friends, too, and maybe Mikayla could be one of them. She was well dressed and pretty, wearing a ribbon in her brown high pony. Zira felt lucky to have gotten her attention, even if the circumstances were somewhat embarrassing. But Mikayla didn’t seem to be teasing her and instead seemed to be excited to have found a common ground- the snacks Zira had not in fact been eyeing, but which provided a safe cover for whatever had come over her.

She really _didn’t_ know what had come over her- a wave of jealousy? They were walking directly to where the red-haired girl was, and Zira was trying not to look at her. She desperately hoped the girl hadn’t noticed her gaping at her moments previously. 

Arriving at the snack cart, the snack selection, along with Mikayla’s chatting, offered a welcome distraction. She didn’t want to think about the heat forming in her cheeks or the odd way her breathing changed just with the knowledge of being close to the girl. So she focused herself entirely on the snacks and Mikayla.

Mikayla helped herself to several snacks while Zira took in the assortment. It was mostly little bags of things, like what you might get from a vending machine: Chex Mix, Doritos, Cheez-its, Pop Tarts. There wasn’t much that was particularly appealing to Zira- certainly not much that was worth the calories. Her momma always said: if you are going to eat something unhealthy, you should really enjoy it. If you are not going to really enjoy it, you shouldn’t eat it. So Zira had developed a high standard for food, in some ways. She had also developed an unhealthy association with the food she ate and her self worth, which made this particular decision quite vexing. 

She had to eat _something_ to appease Mikayla and show that she really had been eyeing the snacks before. She perhaps also felt a little faint and could admit any food, even this complete garbage, could probably do her some good. She was about to give up and grab a bag of Cheez-its when her eyes landed on the winner: a Chips Ahoy! 100 Calorie Pack.

She snatched it greedily, not able to remember when she had last eaten chocolate. 

She tore the bag and popped one of the hexagonal cookie thins into her mouth, not bothering to chew, instead letting the thing melt on her tongue so she could savor it- that familiar Chips Ahoy! flavor, that little bit of chocolate clinging to her taste buds even as she swallowed.

“That good, huh?”

Zira’s eyes shot open as she realized very quickly that she had 1. Involuntarily shut her eyes and 2. Been letting out a pleased hum, as if she wasn’t mortified enough already.

The voice wasn’t Mikayla’s high-pitched chipper one. It was deeper, smoother. 

Zira found herself locking gazes with the red-headed girl. Her lively curls hung just to her shoulders. She had dazzling hazel eyes, outlined by thick black eyeliner and mascara. This close, Zira saw that her face was also covered in freckles and she had a small silver stud in her nose. 

“Guess I chose the wrong snack,” she said. She stuck a Dorito dust covered index finger in her mouth and sucked, eyeing Zira in a way that made her feel slightly like a zoo animal on display. 

Zira averted her gaze, sure her cheeks were pink, hoping her foundation was enough to conceal it. “Low blood sugar, I think,” she mumbled.

“Hmm?”

Zira met the girl’s eyes again. “They’re, um, they’re not that good, actually,” she clarified, her Southern accent coming out thickly. “I think it’s just all the standin’.”

The girl shrugged, wiping her Dorito hand on her dress carelessly. Zira caught the girl flicking her eyes down to her breasts and she became self conscious, once again. People looked at her breasts a lot. They were hard to miss. 

“You like peaches?” the girl asked.

Zira looked down with some understanding and relief, remembering that she had a name tag sticker over her heart. The rush group leaders had encouraged the girls to decorate their name tags with things related to their interests or fun facts about themselves to provide conversation starters in the houses. Hers had a peach and what she hoped looked like a book. She hadn’t been able to think of anything else to draw, so she had left it at that.

“I’m from Georgia,” Zira heard herself saying. “It’s the peach state?” The girl didn’t respond, and Zira was vaguely aware that Mikayla was chattering with someone else, trapping her in this conversation. So Zira did the thing she often did in awkward situations: she started babbling. “It should really be the blueberry state, though, since we produce way more blueberries than peaches. South Carolina should be the peach state. They got us beat by a mile. On the peach front, I mean.”

“You don’t have peaches in the peach state?” the girl asked, brows somewhat furrowed. 

“No, we do! Just more blueberries, is all. Peaches don’t even make the top 10 crops...” she faltered a bit, realizing how boring this probably sounded.

The girl shrugged again with mild interest. “I think I like blueberries better anyways. Though, I don’t think I’ve had a peach that wasn’t out of a can.”

Zira’s eyes widened at this shocking news. “Oh!” she said, momentarily forgetting her embarrassment. “You gotta try a fresh one! I have a peach tree in my backyard and I could spend all summer eatin’ em.”

The girl raised her eyebrows and smiled, like she was amused. “You’ll have to share one with me at some point, then.”

“Oh, um, sure,” Zira said, flustered, as she felt a nudge from Mikayla. She looked around and saw that the rush groups were reassembling to visit more houses. Mikayla’s arm looped back through Zira’s and they turned to journey across the grass once more in order to rejoin their group. 

Zira looked back at the red-headed girl.

She was smiling.

“Catch you around, Peach!” she called from the snack cart, apparently not in a hurry to get to where she was supposed to be.

The second day of rush, it rained.

The rain meant the rush groups stayed huddled together and Zira didn’t see or interact with anyone else. It was miserable, but at least there were fewer houses to visit.

The following week, Zira got her first real college assignments and she holed up at her desk in her room to focus on them diligently. She didn’t so much as say hi to anyone all week.

It rained every afternoon that week.

During the second weekend of rush, it rained some more.

Another week of classes passed as the sororities deliberated over the potential pledges and Zira found that, despite it being September, it was cold in the mornings and rainy in the afternoons and really, outside seemed to be perpetually damp.

Would it be like this all the time? Zira wondered if the North Carolina mountains had been the right choice.

But, then Bid Day came and she got her bid: the invitation to join a sorority. It wasn’t the most popular sorority. It wasn’t even her top choice. But she remembered that the girls were nice and they were all different shapes and sizes and that made her feel comfortable and warm. And they had chosen her. She didn’t take any time to think about it and accepted the bid immediately.

Bid Day was the day she would meet her new sorority sisters and her new pledge class. Everyone would meet on a field near the Greek Village where all the sororities would gather to encircle the new recruits, who would then run to their new sisters amid applause and chanting and singing. Each girl would be gifted a shirt with her new sorority’s letters and then the groups would peel off for Bid Day activities- the opportunity for the new girls to bond with each other and their new sorority group. 

Part of the excitement of the day was seeing just who else ended up in the same sorority, so on the way to the Bid Day field, everyone was abuzz with the topic: which sorority are _you_ pledging?

Mikayla had jumped up and down when she had seen that she and Zira had gotten bids from the same sorority. Zira didn’t have any idea what she had done to endear herself so much to Mikayla, but she thought she should probably hold onto her. They were going to be sisters, after all.

When they finally made it to their places in the center of the Bid Day circle, Mikayla and Zira scanned the surrounding crowd for what were to be their new letters.

“There!” Mikayla exclaimed, pointing to the group of girls with the letters “Phi Mu” they would be running to shortly. Zira’s whole body bubbled up in excitement. It was really happening! She was joining a sorority!

Someone actually sounded an air horn and then they were running. When Zira made it to the group, she was overwhelmed with hugs from girls she hadn’t met yet. She nearly fainted from happiness as she accepted a letter shirt and a cute little lion stuffed animal representing the sorority’s mascot.

What she hadn’t been prepared for, what she hadn’t remotely expected, what she hadn’t even remembered to consider, having been wrapped up in so many other thoughts, was the reality she noticed next.

This reality was, she realized as she looked around at the other new pledges, that the one person she had forgotten to even wonder about was donning matching letters to her own.

The red-haired girl from the first day of rush was wearing very short, worn looking denim shorts that were frayed at the bottom. Zira, couldn’t help but immediately judge the other girl. Zira herself was wearing nice, well pressed J Crew shorts of a sensible length which were both elegant and sexy, thank you very much. 

Her quiet judgement from afar must have warranted punishment from God, because Zira didn’t get to remain _afar_ for hardly a moment.

“Oh, good! It’s the Georgia Peach!” the girl said in greeting when she caught up with Zira as they were all heading towards the sorority house.

Zira tried to feign politeness. She had quickly come to the conclusion that the reason this girl threw her so off balance was that she seemed slutty, plain and simple. And calling her ‘the Georgia Peach’ did not do anything to win Zira’s favor. But, this girl was in her pledge class, no reason to start off burning bridges.

“That’s me,” Zira said, with a weak smile and fingers twiddling in front of herself.

“This is so lucky!” the girl said. She seemed genuinely excited and Zira wondered if she had done something to leave a good impression. “I wasn’t sure if I would find you again, and if I didn’t, then I would never get to try one of your peaches.” The sparkle in the girl’s eyes died a little when Zira looked at her in what she thought was mild surprise, but must have come off as something else far less polite. “I mean- if you ever _wanted_ to bring some from home... you made them sound so good.”

Zira blinked up at her a few times (the girl was considerably taller) and then, finding her to be sincere and suddenly less intimidating, she smiled warmly, while internally chastising herself. “Of course.”

The girl smiled back in what looked like relief and the two walked the rest of the way to the house together.

Zira felt bad for having judged the girl so quickly. She supposed it was a nasty habit developed from feeling outcast for too many years by other girls. She was far too quick to assume the other girls were teasing her.

This girl was actually quite nice. She went by ‘Crowley’, which was her last name, but she said she hated her first name with a passion. Zira didn’t think ‘Antoinette’ was that bad, but she supposed it didn’t seem to fit the girl, and to each their own. 

Bid Day activities involved crafting and a plethora of homemade baked goods- which definitely _were_ worth the calories- and lots of meeting new people.

Crowley and Zira didn’t get much more time together, but Zira didn’t notice because she was focused on meeting her new sisters and learning as many names as she could. At this point in their relationship, there wasn’t really anything about Crowley that made her stand out or stick in Zira’s imagination, other than in those moments awake at night when one remembers every time they have put their foot in their mouth. Having decided Crowley was nice and not a ‘mean girl’, she became just another sister.

It may have never been more than that if it hadn’t been for what Zira would later consider a series of fateful events leading to an even more fateful lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: Sorority Girl, Luke Bryan
> 
> It’s the meet-cute!


	3. Simple

**October, 2010**

As far as candidates for ‘bosom friends’ went, it seemed Mikayla was at the top of the list. Being pledges together and living in the same hall made it very easy to spend lots of time together. It was very nice to have company for meals and someone to come knocking on Zira’s door. 

Mikayla wanted to explore campus and meet the boys on the second floor and have someone to gossip with in the tiny little dorm kitchen. Zira went along with all of it because it felt incredible to be someone’s go-to friend. 

It wasn’t that she and Mikayla had anything particularly in common or that they clicked particularly well. Zira was actually afraid to reveal too much about herself and scare Mikayla away, so the conversations never got very deep. Considering the way Mikayla shared gossip, Zira decided early on that she would most prefer to stay on the receiving end. So their conversations seemed to center mostly on which boys were cute and which parts of campus would be the best spots to enjoy. 

Zira discovered that Mikayla loved reality tv, which wasn’t Zira’s cup of tea (glass of sweet tea?), but she was willing to watch it in the name of friendship. It gave them new topics of conversation and people to gossip about that were not their dorm mates and classmates, so that was a plus.

They were inseparable during pledge events, and, although they chatted with and got to know the other girls, it was impossibly satisfying to have already formed such a clear bond.

Zira became so dependent on Mikayla’s company in a mere matter of weeks that when Mikayla was picked up by her parents before lunch on a Friday to spend the weekend at home in Hendersonville (only an hour away), Zira was at a loss for what to do.

Those first few weeks of school before pledging, Zira hadn’t had much of a problem eating alone in the dining hall. She was so consumed by her schoolwork and her concern over sororities, she didn’t have much space in her brain to think about it. But since Mikayla had become her overnight best friend, she had never not had someone to have a meal with.

The dining hall was Zira’s only option if she wanted lunch. She could have gotten a to-go box, but besides the fact that it was inconvenient to have to walk across campus back to her dorm, her food would undoubtedly get cold on the trek. Zira firmly believed one should take great care to enjoy one’s food. The dining hall food wasn’t exactly gourmet or anything, but when it was hot, at least it still resembled something worth eating.

She determined that she would embark on her loner lunch with the armor of a book. It was something she had done often in high school and middle school. With a book, she would look intellectual rather than pathetic at her empty table. She really did enjoy reading and she hadn’t had a lot of time to pleasure read in the prior weeks, anyways, so it seemed like a top-notch plan.

She never did get a chance to peel back the cover of her well worn copy of  _ Emma _ at lunch, which was all the same since she had read the book so many times. Instead, to her surprise, Crowley, who happened to be in the dining hall for lunch at the very same time as Zira, came right up to her in the pasta line. 

“Zira!” she exclaimed cheerily, like she had found the prize at the bottom of a cereal box. Crowley was wearing spaghetti straps and short denim shorts with low top converses and Zira immediately noticed how good she looked with her perfect little apple breasts and her cute little behind. Zira was very jealous. Zira couldn’t have pulled off that look, she knew it, and the feeling she was experiencing in her chest- the rapid heartbeat and shallow breathing and slight loss of focus- was jealousy, it had to be, she was certain of it.

“Are you here alone?” Crowley asked.

Zira felt herself reddening at being caught. “Yes, but, you know,” she said, holding her book up in explanation.

Crowley looked a little disappointed. “Oh,” she said. “Do you think you could be willing to eat with me, anyways? I mean, we could just share a table. I’m here alone, too, but I don’t have a book or homework or anything. I was just going to scroll on my phone so I could look like I was alone on purpose.” Crowley’s words had come out in a steady, uninterrupted stream, and when she finished, she made a face like she had inadvertently let out too much.

Zira smiled, knowing that she was doing the exact same thing. “I would love to eat with you,” she said.

Crowley lit up. “Great! I’ll get us a table!” She hurried off and Zira thanked her lucky stars. She hadn’t even been initiated yet and being in a sorority was already paying off!

When Zira had her plate of food and found where Crowley was sitting- a nice cozy spot next to a window- she happily sat in the sunny seat across from Crowley, setting down her food and Vera Bradley wristlet. She closed her eyes and took in the feeling of the sun on her skin through the glass- it felt amazing after all of the days of rain. She found herself smiling as she looked at Crowley. “What a perfect spot for lunch!” she said, before digging into her pile of pasta, which she thought was supposed to be Alfredo.

“Glad you think so,” Crowley replied, smiling right back. Her facial expression changed to one of apprehension as she asked, “Are you going to read, or...?”

“Oh! I’m happy to talk,” Zira responded. Crowley seemed relieved.

It occurred to Zira then that she wasn’t sure what to talk about with Crowley. She didn’t know, yet, what made her tick and she didn’t want to spoil anything by saying the wrong thing.

Luckily, Crowley appeared ready with a topic.

“You know, I’ve been wondering,” she started. “How do you know about the top Georgia crops or whatever? I mean, I’ve lived in North Carolina my whole life and I couldn’t even guess. I couldn’t even tell you the state flower. If we have one. We must, though, right? Every state has a flower, I think... sorry, sorry.” She shook her head. “I’m getting distracted.”

Zira giggled. “I don’t know about North Carolina, but the Georgia state flower is the Cherokee Rose.”

“See! How in the world do you know that?”

“My daddy is the mayor of Macon and I have an uncle in the state legislature, so I’ve just absorbed a lot of information from them, I guess. The crop thing is important for my daddy’s campaigns: agricultural interests are important in Macon.”

“Hmm. That makes sense. What are other important Georgia crops?”

Zira smiled. She didn’t have any idea why Crowley was so curious about this, but it was sort of endearing. “Pecans, peanuts, cotton, corn. There’s probably some other ones too, but those are definitely high up there.”

“What’s your favorite one?”

“My favorite what?”

“Your favorite crop?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Zira said, looking at her half eaten and sad looking pasta. Zira looked up at Crowley suspiciously. “Why are you interested?”

Crowley shrugged. “I don’t know. Insight into you, I guess.”

Zira thought that was really nice. She wasn’t sure Mikayla had made much effort into gaining ‘insight’ into her. Not that she begrudged her for it or anything. Crowley was just, sort of... surprising. 

“What about you?” Zira asked. “Do you have a favorite crop?”

Crowley smiled. “I don’t know a single thing about agricultural crops.”

“Okay. Well, then, plants in general? Do you like gardening?”

“I do, actually, yeah. I’ve been living with my uncle for the past few years and it’s kind of awful- the guy is a nut job. He’s a conspiracy theorist who thinks the apocalypse is coming, so he has a giant collection of guns in his shed and a shit ton of canned foods and stuff. But he also has a big vegetable and herb garden because, you know, he will have to know how to grow his own food out of the radioactive soil from the nuclear fallout that’s coming, which makes complete sense.” Zira laughed. “But, whatever, the garden is awesome and I like helping him with it. And eating fresh food from a garden is pretty awesome.”

“That _ is _ really awesome,” Zira said. “We grow some stuff at home, but it’s really just fruit. Peaches, as you know, and strawberries, and blueberries.”

“That sounds great. Ugh,” she said, looking down at her chicken and poking it with her fork. “Talking about this is making me upset about how bad this food is. Is your pasta any good?”

Zira pursed her lips to keep from laughing. “Not really. The broccoli in here is so over cooked it is practically mush and I think the sauce is mostly water.” Crowley started laughing and Zira couldn’t hold her own laughter back.

“I think I’m done. What about you?” Crowley asked. 

Zira nodded, unable to regain her composure completely.

“Are you doing anything after this?” Crowley asked. “I am done with classes for the day and I was gonna go lay outside for a little bit since it’s so nice.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Zira responded a tad shyly. “That sounds absolutely lovely.”

When they got outside, Crowley donned a pair of stylish oversized sunglasses she pulled out of a big cloth tote bag she was carrying. She might have looked like a model, except that her overstuffed tote was a little ridiculous, being black with Jack Skellington’s face in white, large and menacing. Zira might have actually thought the tote was scary if she hadn’t known the character. Instead, she was a bit amused and perhaps overly excited to see that maybe, just maybe, it was possible Crowley liked Disney as much as her.

When they found a nice sunny spot in the grass near the campus’s central plaza, the reason for the overstuffed nature of the tote revealed itself. Crowley pulled out a big worn quilt and laid it out across the grass. She threw off her converses, revealing socks with red roses and daggers and Zira thought maybe it was more the creepy factor she liked than the Disney factor. 

Crowley laid down on the quilt and stretched herself out like a cat, before seeming to settle in snuggly to one side of the blanket, hands behind her head and ankles crossed. Zira walked the perimeter of the blanket until she got to the opposite side. She carefully removed her own shoes and laid on the blanket on her stomach, a sensible distance from the lounging Crowley, and brought her book in front of herself.

She was just finding her place in her book when she felt Crowley shift next to her. She looked up to see Crowley shifted to her side, holding her head up with one hand. “What are you reading?” she asked.

Zira lifted the book to show her. “It’s  _ Emma _ by Jane Austen. Have you read it?”

“I haven’t read any Jane Austen. Is it any good?”

“Oh! I love it. I’ve read it about a million times. I love all of Jane Austen’s books.  _ Pride and Prejudice _ is my favorite, of course, but  _ Emma _ is really fun.”

“They’re not boring?”

“Definitely not! Well, I don’t think so, anyways. I read a lot of old books, though.”

“Well, if you’ve read them a million times, they must be good.”

Zira blushed at that, looking down at her book. “I’ve got the whole Austen collection, you know. You could borrow any of them any time. You could borrow this one, now. It’s not like I need to know what happens.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, pausing for a little too long. Zira looked at her curiously. Crowley was intently focused on a loose thread in the quilt she was playing with. “No thanks,” she said, without looking up.

“Are you sure? If you start reading it and don’t like it, I won’t be offended...”

“No, it’s not that, it’s...” Crowley sighed. “I’m dyslexic, so old books like that, with funny words and everything are just a bit harder for me. But, you know. I like audio books, so...”

“Oh! Well I’m sure the campus library has all the Austen books as audiobooks, or another local library does. Easy peasy! What if.... I could read you a little bit of  _ Emma _ and you could see if you like it? And if you decide to get the audiobook, we can talk about it...”

Crowley perked up and looked at Zira like she was impressed. “Alright. Go on, then.”

“Now?”

“Sure.”

Zira sat up excitedly. She loved reading aloud- she thought she was good at being expressive and she liked to try doing voices, though maybe she would leave the British accent out- that might be embarrassing. She left her bookmark in place and opened instead to  _ Emma _ ’s first page, clearing her throat. “Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence....” 

Crowley laid back as she listened. She seemed to be enjoying the book, because she laughed a few times and stopped Zira occasionally to ask questions or comment. Zira read the first couple of chapters- they were fairly short- as the sun beat down on them. It was becoming surprisingly hot as the day wore on and Zira felt herself sweating in a way she scarcely had since she had left Georgia weeks previously.

After three chapters, Zira shut the book. “How do you like it?”

“It’s clever,” Crowley said.

“Yes, that’s kind of Jane Austen’s thing. If you plan to continue on your own, we could find one of the adaptations to watch afterwards. I’m not sure which one I like best...”

“That would be fun.”

Zira beamed at her. Then she sighed. “I should probably head back to my dorm,” she said. “I need to do some homework.”

“On a Friday night?”

Zira shrugged. “At least I want to get some reading done.”

Crowley sat up. “Okay... Hey, Zira?”

“Yes?”

“This was really fun.”

“I think so, too.”

Crowley drew her knees to her chest and looked away, smiling, but also looking very shy and very red. “I was wondering... maybe, if you wanted to, we could get dinner sometime- you know, eat something better than whatever that dining hall is trying to pass for food- and we could, like, you know, hang out.”

Zira appreciated how shy Crowley seemed. She had worried she would be the only one awkward about trying to make friends, but seeing Crowley awkward, too, was incredibly comforting. And, talking to Crowley felt really natural somehow. Perhaps Mikayla had a contender for the role of ‘bosom friend’. 

“How about tomorrow night? You could come to my dorm room and we could order something for delivery and we could watch a movie. I’ll have my room to myself since my roommate usually disappears for the entire day and night on Saturdays.”

Crowley looked back at Zira, and even behind the sunglasses, her relief was clear. Her face might have even indicated a hint of giddiness. “That sounds perfect,” she said.

They set their plans and resolved for a time for Crowley to arrive at Zira’s door. For the rest of Friday and all of Saturday, Zira tried her best to focus on homework, she really did. But her excitement for a girls night kept distracting her. 

It wasn’t just about it being a girls night, though. Her excitement was to spend more time with  _ Crowley _ . She couldn’t place her finger on what it was, but, for whatever reason, something made her suspect that this relationship would be important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: Simple, by Florida Georgia Line
> 
> (I may or may not have read the entirety of Pride and Prejudice over the phone to my partner when we first started dating... we were 20 and we were at home for summer break during college, so we couldn't see each other, and instead we would have these long late night phone calls. I just decided to start reading the first chapter to him one day because I was rereading it, and then it became a thing. He actually would ask for me the next chapter when we got on the phone at night! It was the best thing ever because apparently he grew up under a rock and had no idea Darcy was the love interest, so I had a lot of fun going through that journey with him, haha.)


	4. Far From Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some chapters will have the occasional footnote, which are typically just cultural clarifications.

When Saturday evening rolled around, Zira was amped up on restless energy waiting for Crowley to arrive. She had told Crowley to wear something comfy, which was what her plan was as well, so it shouldn’t have mattered at all how she looked. But this was a new friendship, so she wanted to look good. She changed three times, finally settling on one of her favorite sets of pjs: frilly edged short sleeves and shorts that were covered in little owls with night caps. She had put on some fuzzy socks that matched well and then focused on fussing over her hair. She could put it in a pony, or braid it, or leave it down. It looked best down. She could just pin back some of the top, and then if she wanted to do something else with it, she always could. But the important thing was to start off with the right impression, right?

Zira’s fears were alleviated almost as soon as she opened the door for Crowley. Zira heard a sharp intake of breath and saw Crowley’s eyes widen. She wasn’t sure what to think at first, but then Crowley spoke. “You, um, you look really cute.”

“Thank you,” Zira said, smiling widely. Crowley sounded and looked nervous and Zira couldn’t understand it at all. Maybe she had had the same fears as Zira and was worried about how she was dressed? But she looked completely adorable, with black double rolled soffes and a David Bowie v-neck. How _Crowley_ could possibly find _Zira_ intimidating, of all people, when she herself consistently looked like the lovechild of an Irish goddess and an edgy rockstar, Zira couldn’t fathom.

Zira stepped aside to let Crowley in and Crowley started babbling. It was funny, Crowley seemed to be like Zira in a lot of ways, despite how opposite they seemed from first glance.

“I wanted to bring something and I wasn’t sure what,” Crowley was saying. “At first I thought wine, but I couldn’t very well cross campus with a bottle of wine, could I? And I didn’t know if you drank wine. And even if you did, I’m not even sure how I would have gotten any since I don’t have a car on campus-”

“You are also under 21,” Zira stated.1

“Yeah, but-” Crowley coughed. “Never mind.”

Zira raised an eyebrow at Crowley. She assumed Crowley was implying she had a fake id and perhaps had indulged in her fair share of elicit alcohol, but she didn’t press. Crowley didn’t respond to the eyebrow quirk.

“Anyways, since we are watching a movie and I could walk to that little campus convenience store, I thought candy could be good, and you wouldn’t believe what they had!” Crowley held up two movie style candy boxes she had been holding, one bunch-a-crunch and one raisinettes, appearing very proud of herself for such an acquisition. “I figured you liked chocolate, you know, because of the chips ahoy! that one time...”

Zira felt heat crawling up her neck. “I cannot believe you remember that, that is so embarrassing,” she said, twirling her hair nervously. “But yes, I do like chocolate. And I love both of those, so good choices.” She smiled past the heat in her face. There was no reason to be embarrassed; she was being ridiculous. “Um, I was looking up places to order from and there aren’t really a lot of options. I think it’s either pizza or Chinese food...”

“Either is fine with me,” Crowley said. “So whatever you want.”

Zira bit her lower lip. “I think I would prefer Chinese. I’ll pull up the menu on my laptop and you can look with me.” Zira climbed on her messy pillow and stuffed animal covered bed and scooted to the side, gesturing for Crowley to join her on it.

When Crowley got onto the bed, she hovered an inch away from Zira, looking with her at the computer open on the bed in front of them. Their arms were not touching, but Zira could feel Crowley’s body heat. It made Zira feel tingly and she could feel her arm hairs standing up a bit.

Swallowing and trying her best to ignore whatever this odd sensation was, Zira focused on the food menu. Zira ended up mostly directing the food choices, since they decided to share and since they had to order at least $25 worth of food to qualify for delivery. So they got lo mein and sesame chicken and Mongolian beef and a big order of crab rangoon on Zira’s insistence, because she was unreasonably obsessed with crab rangoon. Zira paid for everything out of her desire to be a good host and because she was the one who called the restaurant. Crowley protested, insisting she pay instead.

“You brought the movie candy,” Zira said.

“Yeah, but that was like nothing-”

“It’s easier to pay together. You can pay next time.”

“Next time?”

Zira gave Crowley a confused side glance. Why would she be surprised about there being a next time? They were in the same pledge class, after all. Did she not want to get together again? Zira thought they were hitting it off... but, no, the way Crowley sounded was more like she hadn’t dared hope they would become close friends. “Yes,” Zira assured. “Next time. We at least have to watch _Emma_ after you finish the book, remember?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said. She was very smiley after that and seemed to become more comfortable, which in turn made Zira more comfortable. 

(Goodness gracious, making new friends was awkward.)

When the food came, they talked and laughed about all manner of things and Zira could feel herself practically glowing in the face of friendship and a full tummy. The food was so much better than dining hall food: hot and sweet and savory and full of flavor (and probably too much salt, but Zira couldn’t care about that). And Crowley was funny, and witty, and she would go off on the oddest tangents, but they just made her more entertaining, and how was it possible that someone as perfect as Crowley could possibly exist? And more than that, how was it possible that she was in Zira’s room, in Zira’s bed, teasing her like they were the best friends in the world?

Their take out containers abandoned and tossed aside to Zira’s desk, they found themselves sitting up on Zira’s bed and leaning against the wall, curled up in Zira’s many soft blankets and continuing to talk, despite the fact that they were supposed to be watching a movie.

“Hey, is your life, like, exactly like _Steel Magnolias_?” Crowley asked.

“What? Of course not! We do have a magnolia tree in our yard, though.”

“So your life _is_ exactly like _Steel Magnolias_.”

“I hope not. That’s a sad movie.”

“Yeah, that movie sucks.”

“Hey, don’t insult _Steel Magnolias_! It’s sad, but it’s still a classic. I was in the play in high school, you know.”

“Wait, you performed in a play version of _Steel Magnolias_ in high school? Like on a stage?”

“Yes. Is that such a shock?”

“I just didn’t peg you for the acting type. Spotlight and all that.”

“Well, then,” Zira said defiantly. “Maybe you just don’t know me that well.”

“Mmm, that’s sad.”

“What is?”

“That I don’t know you that well.”

That made Zira blush and she wasn’t sure why. She looked away and pushed the blankets off of herself, carefully sliding forward and stepping off of the bed. She kneeled at her bedside, pulling out the plastic tub containing her DVD collection from underneath her bed. It was mostly Disney and romantic movies.

“Well, are you interested in any of these movies?” Zira asked.

Crowley, who was in a blanket cocoon, squirmed across the bed and poked her head over to look, her red curls bouncing around her face. 

“I don’t want to watch anything animated,” she declared. 

“Alright then. What about these other movies?” 

Crowley looked like she was considering, eyes passing over the DVD spines.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of any of them,” she said. 

Zira gasped in shock. How could she not have seen any of Zira’s movies? Zira _lived_ off of these romcoms.

“Well you are just gonna need a proper movie education, aren’t you? We’ll start with a classic. One of my favorites,” Zira said, pulling out _When Harry Met Sally_.

“More classic than _Steel Magnolias_?

“You know what, I think they were made around the same time.”

“You like old stuff don’t you?”

“These movies aren’t even that old!” Zira complained, pushing the tub back under the bed and getting up to retrieve her computer. “Anyways, this here is the pinnacle of romcoms and it is not at all sad, so you will be glad to have watched it, I think,” Zira said confidently. 

After popping the DVD into her laptop, Zira propped up several pillows and settled herself under the covers, indicating for Crowley to do the same. Crowley seemed to hesitate, but she let go of the blanket cocoon and crawled across the bed to get under the covers at Zira’s side. 

Crowley must have been cold because she snuggled up to Zira as Zira balanced the laptop on her knees, setting the movie player app to full screen.

This was a movie Zira absolutely loved, so she got very drawn into it. She and Crowley shared the candy, though Zira thought maybe Crowley let her have more of it. Zira didn’t complain because Crowley had happened to get two of her favorite candies.

Zira could have easily watched the movie on her own, but there was something about having a friend there to comment and laugh with... it was the perfect Saturday night.

As the credits rolled, Zira found that she was crying. As many times as she had seen the movie, the end always got her.

“Are you okay?” Crowley said, though she was teasing. She gave Zira a playful little shove.

Zira wiped her tears away.

“I want a man to love me like Harry loves Sally,” she said wistfully. 

Zira felt Crowley stiffen next to her. Crowley didn’t say anything for a while and Zira wondered if something was wrong with her. 

When she did say something, it was soft, in a very small voice. “Does it have to be a man?”

Zira felt her heartbeat quicken. It wasn’t that she had never thought about it. In fact, she had thought about it much more often than was warranted, considering how ridiculous it was. She didn’t know when the first time a panic came over her was, but every now and then, one happened. Something or other would set it off and she would have an internal panic about her sexuality. Was she a lesbian? If she was, what would that mean for her? And her life? She’d always dreamed of a husband and a house and babies. And then there were her parents. She honestly had no idea how they would react- such topics were totally taboo in her family. But she had a guess: Macon didn’t exactly celebrate homosexuality. And her father was a Republican mayor, for God’s sake. She _did_ know her parents were quite happy with her two older sisters and their husbands and the babies they had started popping out as soon as the vows were said.

All of this would run through her head rapid fire and then a very important detail would come up and remind her why it was so completely absurd: she liked men. She definitely liked men. She was sexually attracted to men, she was absolutely sure of it. To confirm this to herself, she would think of the swoon worthy male leads from her favorite movies or the boys at school she liked or the feeling of a boy’s flat chest against her during a really good hug that made her just a little bit red faced. 

All of this meant that whatever effect some girl had over her had nothing to do with sexual desire and everything to do with jealousy. That was that, crisis averted, nothing to worry about here. 

She had taken too long to respond and Crowley was scrambling out of the covers and flinging herself out of the bed like it had burned her.

“Crowley!” Zira called. She realized then that Crowley herself must have been gay and Zira’s lack of response was looking an awful lot like judgement.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Crowley said from a standing position a few feet away. She was hugging her arms around herself like she was the uncomfortable one.

“Oh, _no_ , Crowley! I didn’t mean to- I mean, it’s totally fine if you are-”

“I should probably go,” Crowley said, moving towards the door. Zira hopped up and caught up to Crowley, grabbing her wrist before she could leave.

“You can’t just walk across campus in the dead of night like this. You could get raped or murdered or something. Christ on a cracker, Crowley, at least call the campus van service.”

Crowley sighed. “Okay,” she resigned. 

“And wait with me on the bed. You know it’s going to take a while for them to come and I know you are cold.”

Crowley begrudgingly returned to the bed and crawled onto it, pulling her legs to her chest. Zira draped a blanket over her shoulders as she called the van service. Once she was off the phone, Zira sat next to her.

“Crowley, I’m sorry I responded the way I did. It wasn’t a judgement on you, I promise. Your sexuality, whatever it may be, doesn’t bother me in the slightest.”

“Wow, that really makes me feel better,” Crowley said, her voice thick with sarcasm. Zira knew she was just being snippy because she was hurt, so she ignored her.

“I was just thinking about my response. It’s not something I’ve really talked about before and the thing is, I’ve thought about it, but I’ve always come to the conclusion that I like men. So, yes. I guess the answer is it has to be a man.”

“You can like men and also like women and other people,” Crowley mumbled.

Zira didn’t know what ‘other people’ Crowley was referring to, but she also recognized that, being from Macon, there were probably a lot of things she didn’t know and she didn’t want to sound bigoted, so she didn’t comment.

“I do,” Crowley continued, her chin resting on her knees.

“You do what?”

“Like, you know, all kinds of people.”

“You mean you are bisexual?” 

Zira knew what bisexuality was, she wasn’t an idiot. There was a part of her, deep inside, that understood it better than she ever cared to admit, but she had become skilled at burying that part. On the surface, she bristled at the idea. It was something people said when they didn’t fully want to admit they were gay. That, or it meant they were overly into sex. And those descriptions certainly didn’t fit Zira. 

Not that this was about her. This was about being a supportive friend, whatever transitional period Crowley may have been going through.

“Yeah,” Crowley said. “I mean, no. I prefer pan.” Pan? What on God’s green earth was pan? Like the cooking spray? Crowley must have seen the utter confusion on Zira’s face because she continued. “Pansexual? It means I’m attracted to people and not their genders.”

“Oh,” Zira said dumbly. “Well,” she started slowly and carefully. “I want you to know that I support you and-”

Crowley cut Zira off.

“Look,” Crowley said. “As fun as this super awkward conversation has been, I think I should go downstairs to wait for this van.”

“Okay,” Zira said. 

Crowley shoved the blanket off of herself and Zira followed her to the door where Crowley was pushing her feet into her converses without bothering to untie them.

“Crowley?” Crowley looked back at Zira. Zira wanted to hug her. She wanted to say all manner of things. _Please don’t think poorly of me. Please stay my friend. Please be my best friend. We were meant to meet, I can already feel it. Don’t let my stupid mouth ruin it._ Instead she just said, “See you at initiation?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said. Then she gave Zira a funny look. “‘Christ on a cracker’?” 

Zira smiled as she rolled her eyes. “Stay safe,” Zira said.

She felt relieved. Teasing was a good thing. They were still friends.

Right?

* * *

[1] It may be of interest to non-American readers that, while the age of legal adults in the U.S. is 18, the legal age for the consumption and purchase of alcohol is 21.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Far From Home, by Aubrie Sellers
> 
> For anyone who thinks there aren't enough women in country music... well, you are right, but get ready for a flip in our playlist. It will be mostly women from here on out. It's almost like it is symbolic of Zira's shift in perceptions of herself! Or its a coincidence and I made up an explanation later.
> 
> Also, this chapter makes me want crab rangoon... ugh!


	5. Bless My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I attempted [art](https://jammintwamp.tumblr.com/post/613310792397455360/oh-my-god-they-were-sorority-sisters-i-am)!

**March 2011 _(2nd Semester, Freshman Year)_**

Zira’s final grades at the end of her first semester were very good. She was pleased and thoroughly relieved to have made it out of her first college semester so well. Winter passed and Zira started a fresh semester with fresh classes and friends at her side. Those friends, to her chagrin, did not include Crowley.

Zira and Crowley hadn’t become the great friends Zira had hoped they would. They were pleasant enough to each other in groups, and they were often in groups, but it wasn’t anything close to what Zira had had in mind. 

There were also the rumors about Crowley circulating, at least within what had become Zira’s small friend group. Not that Zira believed any of them. 

Except, it was hard not to believe them when Crowley was such an undeniable flirt with any sister who gave her a glance. 

The most outrageous rumor of all was the one about Crowley having a secret relationship with the sorority president. Zira could not believe Crowley could really be that bold. Lucy wasn’t just a senior, she was also the _president_ , arguably the most powerful member of the sorority.

Rumor had it Lucy was much more into Crowley than Crowley was into her.

Zira had plenty of sisters to spend time with and activities to preoccupy her and assignments to drain her energy. She didn’t have time to spare thoughts about Crowley and whether or not she was dropping her panties left and right. And certainly not to think about her with _Lucy_. If it was true.... How wildly inappropriate. Plain indecent.

Lucy was about to lose her power, anyways. There were elections to be had and executive leaders to be turned over. Seniors making way for juniors to take their places.

Naturally, everyone in Zira’s little group had opinions about the elections when they were over, and they came out over crafts. Zira and Mikayla were modge-podging some wooden letters to be put over their beds, and Sandy and Uri were both painting wooden paddles. Zira thought the paddles were a bit questionable because of some of the more negative connotations of paddles in Greek Life, but she wasn’t going to say anything.

“Can y’all _believe_ Gabriella and Bee are going to have to work together?” Sandy was saying. Sandy, well, Zira hated to think it, but she didn’t think Sandy was playing with a full deck1, bless her heart2.

“What’s so odd about that?” Zira asked.

“Don’t you know? Gabriella and Bee _hate_ each other,” Sandy said. Sandy’s wispy hair, that she dyed frequently and was currently a shimmery purple, like she was auditioning for a part as a mermaid, had somehow dipped into the paint she was using, white paint sticking the ends of her hair together.

“I don’t know if ‘hate’ is the right word. They certainly have different visions for the sorority,” said Uri. Uri, in stark opposition to Sandy, was the epitome of sophistication. Her brown skin was shiny and smooth and totally blemish free. She wore her hair naturally with a close crop and always seemed to have a no-nonsense attitude about her. She didn’t talk much, at least, not compared to the chatter boxes that were Sandy and Mikayla, but when she did, people usually listened.

“I bet Bee’s not happy about being second fiddle to Gabriella. I wouldn’t be surprised if we had a mutiny on our hands.”

“Please, Sandy, don’t be so dramatic,” Uri chastised.

Sandy seemed to notice the paint in her hair then and became preoccupied with trying to get it out with a paper towel. Her distraction was exactly what Mikayla needed to take the spotlight.

“What _I’m_ curious about is which one of them Crowley will go after.”

“Crowley?” Zira asked in surprise.

“Yes, Crowley. Our resident floozy? Jesus, Zira, keep up. Anyways, she’s got Lucy Foster wrapped around her finger now, but I just know she is gonna drop her as soon as she loses her title.”

“I wonder if she’s getting special treatment!” Sandy said, like it was the first time the thought had occurred to her, despite the fact this particular piece of gossip had been hot for two weeks.

“Of course she is, dum dum,” Mikayla said. “Anyways, I bet she goes after Gabriella first.”

“That’s ridiculous. Gabriella is straight,” Uri said.

“I don’t know,” Sandy said. “Crowley like, what’s the word for it? She, like, puts out sexual energy.”

“Um. ‘Exudes’?” Zira offered.

“No, I don’t think so. Anyways, last weekend at that party, she was looking at me, and, like, I almost forgot I was straight.”

“That’s because she is a temptress slut,” Mikayla said.

“Good grief, Mikayla!” Zira exclaimed. “I really don’t think we should be talking about our sisters like that. It’s not sisterly.”

Mikayla looked at Zira like she had grown two heads.

“Zira is right,” Uri said. 

Uri’s declaration settled it and they moved on to conversations that didn’t involve their other sorority sisters at all, to Zira’s relief. She didn’t keep up with the conversation, though. Her mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of Crowley.

Zira attempted to live in denial about Crowley’s behavior, but there was only so long she could succeed in that endeavor.

It was the sisterhood slumber party that cinched it. Zira didn’t see for herself, but Sandy had the damning evidence. She had said she’d been filling her glass with tap water and glancing out the sorority house’s kitchen window into the dark night when, to her surprise, as most people were sleeping, she had gotten a glimpse of none other than Antoinette Crowley and Lucy Foster canoodling under the sorority house fire escape. When Zira heard, it was all she could do not to pitch a fit right then and there.

The next time Zira saw Crowley, it was when she was leaving the dining hall after lunch one day in late March. She was heading back to her dorm before her next class when she happened to catch sight of those red curls. Right there, in the campus’s central plaza, was Crowley, with a big stand up easel, painting. There were other people with similar easels scattered around.

Zira had never seen what must have been an art class Crowley was in working outside like that. But it was just starting to warm up as March was winding down, and if she hadn’t been angry, she may have thought it was picturesque or something.

Zira hardly spoke to Crowley any more, but she felt an obligation to confront her about what was clearly indecent behavior. Seeming as though this was as good a chance as any, and feeling her anger flare, Zira stalked over to Crowley.

“Crowley!” she called angrily as she approached. Crowley whipped her head around, looking for the person who had called her name. She seemed to catch sight of Zira just as she was closing the distance between them.

“May I speak with you?” Zira hissed as she came next to Crowley.

Crowley looked at her blankly, paintbrush in one hand and paint palette in the other. “I mean, I’m sort of in class, but I guess I’m just standing here painting for an hour, so, yes?”

“What are you doing?” Zira said under her breath, just loud enough for only Crowley to hear.

“What do you mean what am I doing?” Crowley said at full volume. “I’m painting the fountain in the middle of the plaza.” She gestured at the fountain with her paintbrush. Zira idly noticed that Crowley’s painting was pretty good so far, but she wouldn’t let that derail her.

“Not that, you nitwit. I’m talking about the sorority. Why are you galavanting around sullying the sanctity of this sisterhood?”

“Okay, I don’t know what the fuck you are talking about,” Crowley stated calmly.

“You! Hussying yourself around. Did you or did you not sleep with Mary-Alice, Lauren, _and_ Lee-Ann?”

“Oh.” Crowley turned back to the painting, like it was the end of the conversation. “Yeah, well. I did, you know, mess around. With those girls. But, so what? It’s not like they aren’t free women.”

“Yes, but I happen to notice _you_ are the common denominator. And I just don’t think it is appropriate-“

Crowley turned to look at Zira with incredulity. “Appropriate?”

“Is it true that you are in a secret relationship with Lucy Foster?” Zira accused at a whisper.

“Secret relationship? No, I’m not in a _secret relationship_.”

“But you _are_ sleeping with her.”

“What is your problem? Are you jealous or something?”

“What? How dare you...” Zira huffed. The nerve, honestly. “Doesn’t sisterhood mean anything to you?”

At that point, Crowley dropped all pretense of continuing to paint, letting the brush and palette hang loosely at her side. Zira noticed she had paint on her forearms and all over the smock she was wearing. “Not really, Peach. It’s a social club. That we pay to be a part of. Which is kind of weird, when you think about it. It’s, like, classist, right? Whatever. Anyways, my point is- I joined this sorority to meet people. And I’m meeting people. What is so wrong with that?”

Crowley’s bluntness caught Zira off guard. “I- I don’t know. Nothing, I guess,” she said, in a small voice. “I just don’t understand it. I thought you were attracted to people’s souls, or whatever, but this seems...”

“Wait, _what_? I never said I was attracted to people’s souls, what are you even talking about?”

“I’m trying to understand, Crowley!”

Crowley sighed in frustration and looked at the sky like she was asking God for strength. She steeled herself and looked at Zira. “First of all, what the hell is wrong with sexual freedom and agency? Second of all, I really, really don’t see how my sex life is any of your business, anyways.”

“Because. _Because!_ Oh, God-” Zira bit her tongue just enough to change what streamed from her mouth. “ _Bless America_.”

“God bless America?” Crowley said, mouth widening in glee.

“Don’t laugh at me! I’m trying to be angry!” Crowley pressed her mouth shut, clearly trying to control herself, but the laughter was still in her eyes. Zira sighed. “You’re right. It’s not my business. I have no idea why I care. Maybe I _am._.. Maybe I _am_ jealous.”

“Wait-” Crowley furrowed her brows. “You are?”

“I miss you, Crowley,” Zira said emphatically. “I thought we would be great friends.”

“We could... we could still be great friends,” Crowley said, twiddling her paintbrush in her hand.

Zira felt a wave of relief and perhaps a dollop of joy. “Really?”

“I mean, I don’t want to be friends with Mikayla or her little stuck up circle.”

“She’s not- they’re not- well, alright. Just you and me then. I mean, I retain the right to remain friends with them, but you don’t have to even see them.”

“Deal.”

“I should tell you that Mikayla is going to be my roommate next year...”

“ _What?_ Why? Why do you like her so much?”

“Oh, hush, Crowley, pettiness isn’t a cute look on you. Anyways, it’s because we are living in the house next year. Or at least, we are going to apply. Are you thinking about it?”

“I don’t know,” Crowley said, tilting her head thoughtfully. “I might go off campus.”

“With Lucy Foster?”

“No, not with Lucy Foster. I don’t give a fuck about Lucy Foster.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Let’s just- let’s just forget about this, alright?”

“Alright.”

“Now, get out of here,” Crowley said, waving her off and trying to get back to her painting. “You are going to get me in trouble.”

“Okay, but...” Zira wasn’t about to leave the way they’d left things. They had agreed to be friends, but the agreement alone didn’t mean much. 

Crowley must have understood implicitly because she said, without looking away from her painting, “Lunch tomorrow?”

Zira gave Crowley a small smile. “That sounds lovely.”

**April 2011**

Zira and Crowley easily fell into friendship and started spending a surprising amount of time together outside of sorority functions. Lunches became a regular thing for them and they sometimes spent time in each other’s dorm rooms.

Inside the sorority, the relationship tended to be more strained, but that had mostly to do with Zira’s friends. Crowley had her own friends in the sorority, so it didn’t matter too much. 

Zira loved being in a sorority and the overwhelming feeling of support she felt from being a member of such a large group of women, but she also craved her time outside of it, when she got to be with Crowley. 

(Funny how time moves in college. They’d only been close for a few weeks, maybe a month, and yet it already felt like a lifetime. Zira wasn’t sure she had ever felt more comfortable with anyone else.)

The fact that they were fast friends should have been incomprehensible. Crowley was so completely opposite to Zira in so many ways. She was wild and carefree, while Zira was prim and prone to over-thinking. Crowley was like Sandy at the end of _Grease_ : sexy and dangerous. Zira was like Sandy at the beginning of _Grease_ : boring and plain.

Oddly, their stark differences were exactly what made their friendship work. Crowley helped Zira to have fun and relax and not take everything too seriously. She was the foil Zira desperately needed to keep from turning into an academic robot. And Crowley needed Zira to keep her on track and remind her to at least study occasionally.

It was somewhere towards the end of the semester, between midterms and finals, that Zira agreed to go with Crowley to a party. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Crowley had reminded Zira that she worked too hard and that she needed to loosen up, to have fun. Zira had admitted she was curious about college parties- it seemed like the kind of experience not to miss out on. 

But she was also nervous. 

She hadn’t been to any parties yet because she felt uncomfortable with the idea. She only was interested now because she knew if she went with Crowley, she would feel safe. Crowley, Zira knew, had acquired plenty of party experience in the past year. She also knew that Crowley cared about her and would make sure nothing happened to her. Crowley had promised that if at any moment, for any reason, Zira wanted to leave, she would leave with her, no questions asked.

Of course, Zira probably could have felt safe going to a party with any of her sisters, but she also could admit that she wasn’t sure she could have had any fun with anyone else. So, on a Saturday night in April, Zira found herself opening her door to her best friend.

Crowley was wearing black skinny jeans and a leather jacket (she really _was_ Sandy at the end of _Grease_ ) and she didn’t bother saying hi. Instead, she simply strode into the room, throwing her head back and saying, “I am _starving._ Do you have any snacks?”

Zira had grown to expect as much from Crowley, so she simply smiled to herself as she closed the door. “I have some apples I stole from the dining hall,” Zira offered.

“How do you steal an apple from the dining hall?” Crowley asked, settling herself into Zira’s bottom bunk.

Zira leaned against her closed door. “Well, you know how there’s that sign that says you are only supposed to take one fruit? Sometimes I go back and sneak a second one to take home with me.”

Crowley laughed. “I’m not sure that counts as stealing. The real theft is the cost of our meal plans.”

“Either way, I have a bit of a stock now because I don’t actually like apples very much. I’m not sure why I keep taking them, really.”

“I think it’s because you are secretly a rebel.”

Zira rolled her eyes. “Do you want one, or not?”

“Yeah. I love apples.”

“Well, good! You can take them off my hands, then.” Zira went to her desk drawer where she was storing several apples to get one out for Crowley.

“Next year, when I’m living off campus, I’m gonna need you to keep stealing apples for me. You think you can handle it?”

“Hmm. I’ll have to think about it,” Zira teased as she tossed the apple to her. Crowley caught it with one hand and immediately took a bite.

“Okay,” she said through a mouthful of apple. “What are you planning to wear tonight?”

Zira shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, fiddling with the bottom of her letter shirt. “I don’t know. What do people wear to parties?”

“Depends on what you want to do, I guess. Are you trying to meet boys?”

“Should I be?”

“I can’t tell you that. That is up to you.”

“Well…” Zira said, clasping her hands in front of herself. “Meeting a boy could be nice…”

“Okay,” Crowley said, waving her apple around. “In that case you should wear something sexy, obviously.”

“Oh, I don’t have anything sexy.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. Which one is your closet?” Crowley asked, gesturing to the two closed doors. 

Zira indicated her closet and Crowley sprung up to open it and paw through her hanging clothes, the half eaten apple still in one of her hands. “Jesus, Zira, how many Lilly Pulitzer dresses do you _have_? Is she a personal friend, or something?” 

Zira decided not to tell her about the ones she had left at home in Georgia _._

“Okay, well you obviously can’t wear one of those,” Crowley said. “You wouldn’t want to spill cheap beer or get a jungle juice stain on one of your expensive dresses.” Crowley took another bite of her apple and looked thoughtful as she chewed. She turned to Zira, who was standing helplessly next to her bed. “Do you have anything that you don’t care about very much that is also low cut?” Crowley asked.

“You really think I should wear something low cut?” Zira asked.

“Why not? You should show off what God gave you,” Crowley replied.

“I’m not so sure I’m happy about what God gave me,” Zira said.

“Are you kidding? I would kill for boobs like yours.”

“It’s a blessing and a curse. Trust me. I mean,” Zira looked down at her breasts, which were currently obscured by her t-shirt. “I guess they are kind of nice, but they mostly just give me unwanted attention and back pain.”

“Okay, that’s fair. But, I mean, you kind of want attention tonight, don’t you?”

“I guess,” Zira said, looking back at Crowley. “Why aren’t _you_ showing off what God gave you?” she accused, pointing at Crowley’s bulky jacket.

Crowley laughed. “I don’t exactly have much to show off.”

“Sure you do,” Zira insisted. “You’ve got those perfect little apple breasts.”

“Apple breasts?” Crowley asked, looking down at her chest. “You think my boobs look like apples?”

“It’s an expression, haven’t you heard that?”

“No, but I like it.” Crowley opened her jacket and held her apple next to one of her breasts. “So cute you can sink your teeth into them,” she said, squeezing one of her breasts with her other hand and admiring it. 

Zira rolled her eyes. “Well, I am glad you can be proud of yourself.”

Crowley shrugged and tossed the apple in Zira’s mini trash can. She looked back up at Zira and put her shoulders back, hands in her jacket pockets, holding herself up like a peacock. “Anyways, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to show them off because _I_ already have a girlfriend.” 

“ _You_ have a girlfriend?”

“Yep,” Crowley said, flipping her hair and clearly looking proud of herself.

“You mean you have agreed to be in an exclusive, committed relationship with someone?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” Zira said, raising her eyebrows in surprise and leaning against a post on her bunk bed. “Well, color me impressed,” she said. “Who’s the lucky lady? Do I know her?”

Crowley laughed. “You definitely know her. It's Bee Avila.”

“Bee Avila?” Zira said, eyes widening in shock. “Oh my Lord, Mikayla and them are going to riot.” 

Crowley gave Zira a confused look.

Zira sat on her bed and hugged a pillow to her chest. “Everyone thinks you’re trying to go after powerful sorority sisters to get special treatment.”

“ _What?_ ” Crowley said, face contorting in disbelief.

“Be honest with me, Crowley. Are you dating Bee because she’s Vice President?”

“No!”

“Then why are you dating her?”

“Because I like her,” Crowley said, waving her hand around like it was the most absurd thing she had ever heard. “I don’t care that she’s the Vice President of the sorority.” 

“But what about Lucy Foster?”

Crowley walked over and plopped next to Zira on the bed. She looked at her knees and sighed. “That was just a coincidence.”

Zira eyed her, trying to determine if she was being sincere. Mikayla and them had come up with a good story, but Zira didn’t have any reason not to trust Crowley. “Well, alright,” Zira resolved. “You should know, though, that is exactly what everyone thinks,” she warned.

“Well. It's a good thing I don’t care what everyone thinks.”

Based on Crowley’s reaction, Zira knew that wasn’t true. She didn’t prod Crowley on it, though. Instead, they focused on Zira’s outfit. 

Crowley somehow managed to convince Zira to wear a tanktop and too much eye makeup, and they set off together for Zira’s first college party.

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] Not playing with a full deck: [American idiom] not all there, not very smart

[2] Bless her/his/their heart: [Southern colloquialism] a polite way of expressing sympathy, (though often condescending)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: Bless My Heart, by Angaleena Presley
> 
> (Yes, we will get to see the party next chapter.)
> 
> The North Carolina Blue Ridge was recently ranked as the [ 31st most beautiful place in the world!](https://www.onlyinyourstate.com/north-carolina/blue-ridge-mountains-50-most-beautiful-places-in-the-world-nc/?fbclid=IwAR3pjRVVCp3x5Xpo8wGer3J3mea2eU3r5utHsq-I54CMriav7aKMUsZrZWs)
> 
> Also, if you want to get into the NC spirit or you need some music to brighten your days stuck at home, I offer you a second playlist- my personal [Carolina Playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/15YvBiWLlu14rFrOOn5dIA?si=PDejs-U9SKWh9u1dVzYxlg) All the songs are related to North or South Carolina (but predominantly North).


	6. Fearless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Very modest amounts of underage alcohol consumption.

It was April, but it was still cool at night, so Zira had covered herself up with a bulky cardigan. She and Crowley were walking arm-in-arm on a sidewalk along a somewhat busy road, just off of campus, past all of the small rental houses that were often occupied by students. The party they were headed to was a house party at a place where several fraternity guys lived. 

They had been walking for quite a while and Zira was becoming suspicious that Crowley didn’t know where they were going, but Zira didn’t mind. She almost didn’t care if they ever got to their destination, with how nice it was walking with her in the calm night. It was serene, being out like they were, with the softly glowing streetlights and the black streets glistening from the recent rain. 

On one side of them, on the opposite side of the street, was a woodsy hillside- at least, that was what it looked like. It was really the top of a mountain, but at this elevation, the mountain tops were so close they just started looking like hills again. To their other side, over the metal railing that guarded the sidewalk, beyond the buildings and streets cowering below them, the hazy blue mountain ridges were visible through the night fog. 

“You should wear jeans more often,” Crowley had said at one point, when they had just set off. “You look good in jeans.”

“Do I?” Zira had responded, looking down at her legs. The jeans hugged her thighs, revealing their shape in a way Zira wasn’t sure she was entirely comfortable with. It was perhaps one of the reasons she often wore dresses and skirts.

“Yeah,” Crowley had said, like it was nothing at all.

That was nice, too. Zira didn’t think she was ugly or anything, but she did have her insecurities. It was really nice to have a friend who boosted her up like Crowley did. And not in the way Mikayla did- that sort of ‘well, we are both pretty, and that’s why we are friends’ way. It was more genuine than that. It wasn’t something Zira could really put to words.

Zira started to hear footsteps and chatter and the distant sound of a bass. So, they must have been getting close to the party. Zira gripped Crowley’s arm tighter, feeling a lump of nervousness begin to form in her stomach.

Crowley patted Zira’s hand where she was clinging. “It’s going to be fine,” Crowley whispered, as a few houses nestled in the hill/mountainside came into view. “We’re together, remember?” Zira nodded, but didn’t loosen her grip.

Crowley led Zira across the street and into a network of wooden steps that crawled up the mountainside through the little housing complex that was shrouded by woods. As they ascended, the music started getting louder and a lit up house with a smattering of college students loitering around it came into view through the trees. 

They had to clamor up some more slippery steps to get to the house, which had a small porch crammed with bicycles and men’s tennis shoes and hiking boots. There was a guy standing at the front door- probably one of the house residents- checking people’s student ids before he let them in. He wasn’t checking that they were 21, just that they were college students. Crowley had explained that people could get into a lot of trouble if the cops busted a party and found out there were high schoolers there, and since high schoolers liked crashing parties, the id check was common. 

There wasn’t a major college around Wanchese, where Crowley was from, so she didn’t have experience crashing college parties, but she _did_ have experience sneaking into bars, fake id and all. Zira was probably in over her head, hanging out with someone like Crowley. But Crowley was so patient, and kind, and protective… 

The guy nodded at Zira and Crowley’s ids and let them by. It was exhilarating, in a way. It was kind of like Zira had made it past her first bouncer. It was just a skinny, sweaty, 20-year-old, probably, but it was still just a little bit exciting.

The little spark of excitement petered out almost instantly upon entering the house, replaced by another bout of anxiety. 

The inside of the house was warm and crowded and there was pop music playing so loudly, Zira couldn’t hear herself think. The furniture and decor definitely gave the place a log cabin feel. If you could call it decor- it was more of a hodgepodge of outdoor recreation themed knick knacks crowding the walls and shelves haphazardly. There was even a kayak standing next to the door. The place felt very… _masculine._ It was, well, a bit intimidating. Zira stood planted in the entryway of the house for a while, holding onto Crowley for her dear life. 

Crowley seemed entirely at ease, head bobbing slightly to the music. They were quickly greeted by two guys- Zira figured they either lived in the house or were fraternity brothers. “Heya, ladies!” one of the guys said brightly. “Welcome! Help yourselves to anything- there is plenty of beer in the fridge and that cooler over there has some jungle juice expertly concocted by my boy, Brent, here, and Mike, who is over there killing it at Beer Pong.” 

The guys were tall and mature looking- they had to be juniors or seniors. Zira felt very green in comparison. “Thanks!” Crowley answered for both of them.

Zira glanced to where the guy had been pointing and saw a dining room crammed with people and set up with red solo cups. It was definitely Beer Pong, though Zira had only ever seen it played in movies. Zira decided to avoid that room.

The first guy who spoke disappeared to greet some other newcomers behind them, leaving them with, Brent, was it? “Can I get you ladies anything?” Brent offered kindly. 

Zira had to admit the guy was good looking. He looked strong and he had some stubble growing fairly evenly across his face. He wasn’t wearing a tank or a trucker hat like the other guy, but rather a neutral looking polo and no hat at all. 

“You got anything better than Natty Light1?” Crowley asked, and Zira remembered that Brent had addressed them and she should probably have been thinking of an answer.

Brent raised his eyebrows at Crowley, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “Yuengling2?” Brent asked.

Zira felt Crowley shrug as she said “Sure,” and Zira remembered then that she was still clinging on to her. She let go of Crowley’s arm then and crossed her arms over herself, feeling herself turn slightly pink.

“You?” Brent asked, directing his kind gaze to Zira. 

Despite the fact that she knew the question was coming, Zira still felt surprised. She could feel the hairs on her neck standing up. “Oh, I, um,” she started. “Something sweet?”

Brent shot them both finger guns and wandered off into the kitchen.

“How are you feeling?” Crowley asked, when Brent was out of earshot.

“Okay, I think,” Zira said, glancing at Crowley with a small smile. 

“Good,” Crowley said, squeezing Zira’s arm lightly. 

Brent returned with a beer bottle for Crowley and a red solo cup for Zira. “This is the jungle juice I made with my buddy, Mike,” Brent said as he handed the cup to Zira. “Let me know if you like it.”

Zira took the cup and brought it to her mouth, taking a very timid sip. It tasted like sour Kool-Aid. It would have been sickly sweet if it hadn’t been for that sourness. “It’s good,” Zira said shyly. She became aware, again, that she was blushing.

“You know,” Crowley said, addressing Brent. “My friend, Zira, here, is really into books.”

“Oh yeah?” Brent said, looking at Zira. 

“Oh, uh. Yes, that’s true,” Zira said, feeling her face warm even further.

“What’s your favorite book?” Brent asked.

“Um. Maybe _Pride and Prejudice_?”

Brent nodded approvingly. “Respect,” he said. “I’m a big _Lord of the Rings_ fan, myself. Have you read them?”

Zira wasn’t a particular fan. “I have read them,” she said, nodding in a sort of noncommittal way.

“Well,” Crowley said. “It sounds like y’all have a lot to talk about. I actually think my girlfriend is here somewhere, so I’m going to go look for her.” Zira looked at Crowley in alarm and Crowley gave her a sly wink. “I won’t be too far,” Crowley assured Zira, before turning to Brent and giving him a salute. “Nice meeting you!”

And then she left Zira alone with Brent. She _left_ Zira _alone_ with _Brent_. This had not been part of the deal! What was Crowley doing! Zira had only _just_ turned 19 and Brent could have been as old as… as old as… _22!_

Zira smiled weakly at Brent before nursing her jungle juice. 

“Do you want to sit?” Brent asked.

“Sure,” Zira said, because _what else was she going to say_? She may have been panicking slightly.

She followed Brent to a living room packed with people dancing poorly. There was a lumpy couch in the corner that he appeared to want Zira to squeeze onto with him next to the other people already crowding the couch. He graciously allowed Zira to sit first, and then he sat on the couch arm next to her, because there really wasn’t room for two people. 

It was even harder to hear in the living room, so Brent had to lean in dangerously close to talk to Zira. “Have you read _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_? It’s hilarious.”

Zira smiled weakly again. “No, I haven’t,” she said politely. She did _not_ say that she thought that sounded really stupid.

“What’s your major?” he asked.

“Undecided,” she said. “I’m just a freshman.” She actually was pretty decided, but she wanted to make her youngness very clear to this possibly 22-year-old man.

“Oh, don’t worry! You have plenty of time!” 

Zira just nodded. She wondered if the awkwardness was palpable or if that was just her. There was an extended period of silence (maybe Zira was supposed to ask about Brent’s major?) before he spoke again. “You know, I have a brother, Nate, that you might like,” Brent said. “I’ll go find him for you.”

Brent left Zira alone then on the couch and Zira wondered why in the world she had wanted to come to a party. It was not fun. It was hot, and loud, and the house smelled strongly of cheap beer.

She scanned the visible parts of the house to see if she could see Crowley anywhere, craning to try to see around the packs of people. She finally spotted Crowley across the entry way all the way in that dining room, apparently watching the Beer Pong players. Zira saw that she _had_ found Bee. 

They were holding hands. Zira felt suddenly like she wanted to throw up. Was that the jungle juice? She felt dizzy.

Brent returned with Nate, who had a charming smile and a baby face- not even a hint of stubble. Much more Zira’s speed. She felt a wave of relief as Nate introduced himself and took Brent’s place on the couch arm.

“You like books?” Nate leaned in to say.

Zira nodded. “I’m a big _Lord of the Rings_ fan,” Nate said.

Zira giggled. “So is Brent,” she said, but Nate didn’t hear her and leaned in further so his ear was close to Zira’s mouth when she repeated herself. 

When Nate drew back, he looked at Zira quizzically. “You don’t like _Lord of the Rings?”_ he asked. Zira held back another giggle and shook her head. He smiled. He leaned in again. “Do you want to go outside? It’s really hot and loud in here,” he said.

Zira nodded gratefully and they both stood up to go out. Zira spared one more glance at Crowley, who happened to look at her at the same time. Crowley waved happily and gave Zira a thumbs up. Zira returned the thumbs up shyly before following Nate to the back porch.

Stepping outside provided immediate relief from what Zira realized had been a very stressful situation inside. The cool breeze and relative quiet were quite welcome. She and Nate found a spot to sit together on the narrow porch steps, and once Zira had settled down on the slightly damp-soft wood, she found herself staring into her still half full solo cup, unsure of what to say to Nate.

“So you don’t like fantasy, then?” Nate asked, returning to their conversation from inside.

“I guess not,” Zira said, chancing a shy glance at Nate. He was cute. Pretty skinny, but he had a nice face.

“What kinds of books do you like?” he asked.

“Um. I like classic books, I guess,” Zira said.

“And you don’t like _Lord of the Rings_? That’s like as classic as they come!”

“I’ve read them. I just couldn’t quite get into them.” She was looking into her solo cup again. 

“You should listen to the audiobooks. This guy who reads them sings all the ballads and everything. Maybe you will like it more.”

Zira smiled, because it made her think of Crowley. “My friend, the one I am here with? She loves audiobooks. I haven’t listened to them much, but maybe I should.”

“Oh yeah, you definitely should.”

They just talked like that and it was _nice._ Maybe going to a party wasn’t so terrible, afterall. Zira finished her jungle juice and she felt a pleasant floatiness that must have been a buzz. She enjoyed the refreshing night air and she laughed with Nate at the silly things very drunk people did around them and she felt _light._

Her cup set aside, she could look at the cloudy night sky, all dark blues and grays behind black trees, or look at her companion, all dimples and smiling eyes. She could notice that he was _sweet_ and he was giving her _attention_ and that it felt _good._ She could notice that he was leaning towards her and that his eyes were becoming focused with intent. She could realize that she had about a split second to decide whether or not to respond in kind.

She’d kissed one other person before. It had been in high school during one of the plays. Not one she’d performed in. She didn’t usually perform- the _Steel Magnolias_ thing had actually been a one-off for drama class, it hadn’t even been one of the main stage shows. She never would have been cast in such a big role for a main stage. Crowley had been right that one time, anyways- she wasn’t the performing type. She’d only even taken drama because she knew they would get to _read_ plays and learn about playwrights and the history of theatre. No, she was on the crew. She was on the crew because it was _Hamlet_ and she wanted to be involved. She loved _Hamlet._

The boy she kissed was another crew member. He actually had a small role in _Hamlet_ , too. He wasn’t the most amazing actor, but boys didn’t have to be good actors to get parts. The girls in the play were all _phenomenal,_ of course. 

The boy she kissed was in a similar position to Zira. They were both- what was a good word for it? Not particularly _popular?_ Not particularly _desired?_ In the same _‘league_ ’? Because they had talked about leagues in those days. Their friends- if Zira could have called them friends, really they were just the other people involved in _Hamlet_ \- had convinced them that they should get together. That it would be _cute_ and that they would go together great. 

His name was Jonathan, though he went by Johnny. They were both 15. They agreed to ‘date’, which didn’t really mean anything because neither of them could drive yet. 

Johnny kissed Zira in the prop room for the first time. They were supposed to be organizing and labeling props and they probably could have used help, but the others had teased them and let them go in alone. 

Johnny hadn’t known it was Zira’s first kiss. He was aggressive and he pushed his tongue into Zira’s mouth, swirling it around like a windmill. It was _awful_ and Zira almost cried. She wondered if that was what kissing always was like and she felt terrible because she _hated_ it. Surely, all the romantic movies and books hadn’t been lying. Maybe it was _her._ Maybe she was supposed to like it. Maybe she was the one that was wrong. She tried to like it, the next times, but she couldn’t.

Their ‘relationship’ only lasted until _Hamlet_ was over, which was only 3 weeks from the time they’d started it. Zira didn’t mind.

Nate’s kiss- because Zira _did_ lean in and let him kiss her- was nothing like Johnny’s. Zira knew, now, from her internet research, that it wasn’t her fault it had been bad. Johnny was a bad kisser. Just her luck. But, maybe all 15-year-old boys were bad kissers.

Nate, on the other hand, was- what? 18, 19? His kiss was gentle, and sweet. It was slow. When his tongue came into Zira’s mouth, it wasn’t aggressive and it didn’t swirl around like a windmill. 

It was _nice_.

And Zira was also _a little bit_ drunk.

It was when Zira found herself on her knees, pressing Nate into the railing of the steps and feeling his hands- one tangled in her hair and one shoved inside her back pocket- that she regained some of her inhibitions, and pulled away in embarrassment. It was then that he invited her to go with him to his dorm room. It was then that she made her excuses and ran away, back into the house. It was then that she found Crowley in a panic, demanding through tears that they leave immediately.

Bee had her car there and she offered to drive them both back to campus. Crowley sat in the back seat with Zira and asked if she was okay. Zira assured her that she was- nothing bad had happened, Nate had been quite nice. She just wasn’t ready to be pressing any boys against railings or going to any boy’s dorm rooms. She felt herself crying more because of how silly it was that she was upset at all. 

Crowley made some jokes, and Zira laughed and she was able to stop crying. Crowley offered to buy her a cookie and watch a movie with her, and Zira felt the opposite of alone. 

Bee was actually quite gracious about the whole thing. She didn’t mind driving the two of them to campus before heading back to her own off-campus house by herself. She knew Crowley had made a promise to Zira, and, although she wasn’t necessarily the warmest person ever, she seemed to respect that, and she seemed to care about whether Zira was okay. 

That was _good_. She would be a good girlfriend to Crowley. It was _good_.

When Bee dropped them off on campus, she kept her car idle and didn’t get out of the car. She rolled down the window and Crowley kissed her through it. It was chaste, and yet Zira felt sick again, like her stomach was twisted in knots.

It was nothing, _nothing._ Hadn’t Zira just had a stranger’s tongue in her mouth? Hadn’t she just had a stranger’s hand on her… her _ass_? Who was she to think a single thing about Crowley kissing her _girlfriend_? Who was she to be _jealous?_ (She knew she was jealous, she just didn’t understand for the life of her _why._ )

And then it was over, and Bee was gone, and Crowley was taking Zira to the campus convenience store to buy her a cookie the size of her face. And then they were in Zira’s room, watching _Practical Magic._ Crowley could have been spending the night with her new girlfriend, but instead, she was sprawled across Zira’s bed watching a movie she didn’t even like. 

Zira’s heart felt incredibly full. Crowley had turned around what could have been a terrible, horrible night. 

Crowley was asleep, face flat against Zira’s bed, before Sandra Bullock even kissed the sheriff for the first time. Zira took a moment to treasure the sight of Crowley looking decidedly uncool, mouth open and leaving a little spot of drool on Zira’s covers, before she responded.

She managed to cajole Crowley out of her leather jacket and under the covers, and Crowley slept through the night next to Zira, the two of them sharing Zira’s impossibly narrow single bed. They went to brunch the next day at the dining hall, Crowley crabby and complaining about the discomfort of waking up still in jeans. Somehow, Crowley’s bad temper only made Zira smile. 

Afterwards, Crowley wandered off to her own dorm and Zira determined that _parties_ were not for her. Late night movies and cookies though, particularly if shared with _Crowley,_ those were something she could get on board with.

* * *

1. Natty Light: a colloquial term for Natural Light beer, which is a cheap (and frankly, watery) American beer.

2. Yuengling: an American beer that is still mass produced and cheap, but marginally more expensive than Natty Light and, although it's not, like, _great_ , it is acceptable, in the author’s opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: Fearless, by Taylor Swift (remember when Taylor Swift used to be a country singer? Ha. This song is technically listed in both the pop and country genres, but we'll let it slide.)
> 
> What I realized in revisiting this chapter before posting:
> 
> Crowley- wing woman extraordinaire  
> Zira- massive book snob
> 
> I also realize that is sounded like Nate was mansplaining Lord of the Rings, but like, the audiobooks are actually really good, 100% recommend. Tolkien even gave his seal of approval!


	7. Playing With Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: references to masturbation and oral sex

Uri had been right about Bee and Gabriella having different visions for the sorority. Gabriella was a strict rule follower, while Bee thought the rules were more... _bendable_. 

Phi Mu wasn’t the most popular sorority. And Bee thought it needed to improve its image to attract more membership and remain competitive with the other sororities. Guided by this goal, she ended up working with a leader of a fraternity to set up an unsanctioned mixer. The mixer would ensure that the fraternity in question would work with Phi Mu on Homecoming events in the fall, and having an established relationship with a popular fraternity would be sure to draw a lot of girls to pledge.

Not everyone in the sorority knew about the mixer. It was the kind of thing that could easily get the sorority into trouble (serving alcohol without reporting it, using event funds for something not approved by the school or Panhellenic Council1.). Zira only knew about it thanks to her connection with Crowley. 

She didn’t dare breathe a word of it. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Mikayla hated Crowley and resented Zira’s relationship with her. There was no way Zira would give her canon fodder. 

Zira didn’t approve of it, either, but Crowley supported Bee and Zira didn’t want to fight with Crowley. She wouldn’t fight, but she also would _not_ be in attendance. She already wasn’t a fan of parties, and she wasn’t about to break a hundred rules to be at one.

Zira _wished_ she had fought with Crowley, because then at least maybe they would still be sisters. 

Because, the semester was nearly over, finals were just around the corner, and Bee’s party got busted. 

It was bad.

The sorority got into _massive_ trouble, and it felt like the whole campus knew about it. All of the sudden, the sorority’s entire standing was up in the air. As if finals weren’t stressful enough!

Gabriella fought tooth and nail to keep the chapter from being de-chartered as a result. She had to work with the university and the Panhellenic Council and the National Sorority to clean up the mess by ensuring that the actions of a few rogue members were _not_ representative of the chapter as a whole. 

Finally, _finally,_ after days of hair pulling, the university, the Panhellenic Council, and the National Sorority all came together on an agreement on how to deal with the Gamma Mu chapter of Phi Mu: the chapter could remain intact, as long as all offending members involved in the unsanctioned event were involuntarily deactivated. 

Involuntary deactivation was the Greek Life term for getting kicked out.

It was an easy decision, and Gabriella, as President, had the final say. Each of the sisters in attendance of the party would undergo a disciplinary hearing, and if the Greek Life Disciplinary Council, made up of faculty members and students, found a member to be guilty of involvement in or knowledge of the rule breaking, that member would be involuntarily deactivated and no longer permitted to rejoin campus Greek Life.

Zira, not having been in _attendance_ , didn’t get tried.

Bee, Crowley, Crowley’s friend and hallmate Dagan, and several other sisters involved in the party, on the other hand, had their memberships terminated. 

Gabriella was applauded for saving the chapter. 

Mikayla and company basked in their own self-righteousness and reminded Zira why she really shouldn’t have ever been friends with Crowley.

Zira…

She was shocked.

And angry.

And sad.

Crowley had helped nearly cost all of them their haven of sisterhood! Zira had nearly let it happen! She’d _known_ about the rule breaking and she’d done nothing and she was _lucky,_ so lucky, that she hadn’t lost her own spot.

Zira found herself fighting competing loyalties and she didn’t know what to do. Sit quiet and avoid further trouble? Lose contact with the best friend she had ever had? Or stay friends with Crowley and forsake her sorority?

She couldn’t _possibly_ maintain her friendship with Crowley while remaining a part of Phi Mu. She couldn’t _possibly_ have her cake and eat it too.

* * *

  
  


Zira was in her backyard in Georgia, the sun warming her skin pleasantly, it’s light glinting off of her momma’s yellow tulips. She was sitting in the grass, which was soft and plush beneath her. 

_Oh_ , how she had missed Georgia. How she had missed the hot Georgia sun and the pale blue sky overhead, with scarcely a cloud.

Being in Georgia, being in that yard, the breeze lightly tickling her, watching that same breeze ruffle the flowers and grass…. It felt ethereal.

She thought she could have enjoyed the sky and the sun and the breeze forever, but she suddenly became thirsty. 

But it was Georgia and everything she could ever need was there, in that back garden.

The peach tree she had planted with her daddy as a little girl stood large and majestic beyond the tulips and the rose bushes and the stone bird bath. It had been ages since she had eaten its fruit. What better way could there be to quench her thirst than a sweet, supple peach from her own backyard?

She stood and crossed the grass, her bare feet feeling as though they were walking on a soft bed of raw Georgia cotton. As she approached the tree, she could see the rays of sunlight shimmering through the branches like they were beams from heaven. How beautiful and utterly perfect. 

She reached for a fruit, fingers wrapping around it and tugging gently, releasing it from the tree. She brought it to her mouth and bit, craving its sweet taste, the feeling of peach fuzz on her tongue and sticky juice dribbling down her chin.

Her bite gave a surprising crunch. The fruit didn’t have the give she was used to. Was it not ripe? The skin was too smooth, the fruit wasn’t juicy. 

She looked at the fruit in her hand, with the chunk missing from her bite.

It was an apple. 

How very strange.

Something hard hit her head and she looked up. The tree was full of apples. They were falling.

Hundreds of apples falling, the branches blowing wildly in the wind, leaves rustling, apples piling around her. It was as if a storm had suddenly begun to pass through and the apples stood no chance.

There was an apple cocoon forming around her, and she began to panic, but she couldn’t move. There were walls of apples surrounding her, suffocating her. A tower of apples in which she would be trapped forever, like Rapunzel but with no hope for escape. She was losing sight of the sun...

Zira’s eyes opened with a start. They saw only darkness.

It was the middle of the night and Zira’s roommate was snoring in the bunk above her. 

Zira had no idea what her dream meant, or if it meant anything, but somehow she knew it had to do with Crowley.

Was it a warning? An omen? 

Was she losing her mind because her friendship with Crowley felt more important than anything her sorority sisters could say against it? Because her need to spend time with Crowley sometimes threatened to overtake her?

Was she losing her mind because her entire social life revolved around Phi Mu, and it still felt like this exceedingly important thing in her life, and she couldn’t imagine giving it up? Because she hadn’t ever actually been considering it?

She loved her sorority. _And_ , she was sick and tired of warnings about Crowley. She was sick and tired of people telling her to cut off her friendship, to choose one over the other. So what if Crowley had broken a few rules? So what if she wasn’t a sister anymore?

Mikayla and them weren’t the only ones with opinions, anyways. Zira had her Big, her sort of mentor in the sorority, and _she_ wasn’t one to get into drama, thank God. Frances wasn’t around as much as Zira liked- she had to be in about 100 campus clubs- but when they _did_ get together for coffee and scones every now and then, she had a way of putting Zira’s mind at ease. 

The wisdom of a senior was probably what she needed at this moment. Frances hadn’t given Zira any advice on this particular situation- when was the last time they had even talked? But Zira thought she might just encourage her to follow her heart or something. Ultimately unhelpful, but nice all the same. 

_That_ was the thing Zira didn’t want to give up. She wanted what she had with Frances, and she wanted that with someone else, too. She wanted to be someone’s mentor and to wrap someone up in an embrace of welcome and warmth. She wanted sisterhood.

 _And_ , she wanted her best friend.

Zira wouldn't give up her sorority, but she also wouldn’t let it determine who she could and couldn’t be friends with. She was done with playing it meek and safe.

So, despite pressure from her sisters and despite the negative influence Crowley may very well have had on her, she wouldn’t consider for even a moment further giving up her friendship.

She could be a good sister and a good member of the sorority and have her outside friends. She could get a Little and be a sorority leader if she wanted and there was nothing Mikayla or anyone else could say or do to keep her from doing both. She _could_ have her cake and eat it, too. Who came up with that saying, anyways? There was plenty of cake to go around.

That was it, she was done thinking about it.

Her decision made, Zira’s mind could be at ease. Finding one of the many stuffed animals piled around her to hug to her chest, she drifted back to sleep.

**March, 2012 _(Sophomore year)_**

**Phi Mu House, Western Carolina University**

“Well. A planner is a girl’s best friend,” Zira said from her desk, where she was color coding and marking out a schedule for herself. She had to keep on top of all of the essays she had to write for all her English and Literature courses and she took that sort of thing very seriously. Crowley had been teasing her, but Zira had a way of doing things, and she would stick with it.

“No,” Crowley said from her spot lounging on Mikayla’s round lime green dorm chair that lived between Mikayla’s desk and bed. “A _vibrator_ is a girl’s best friend.” 

Of course Crowley would say something like that. Zira turned in her desk chair to give Crowley a glare and pointedly didn’t say anything. Crowley returned Zira’s glare with a stoic gaze and a raised eyebrow, challenging her. 

Zira couldn’t continue looking into Crowley’s piercing eyes, so she focused on the stress ball Crowley was tossing into the air and catching. Mikayla would _kill_ Zira if she knew she was letting Crowley touch her stuff. “You have a vibrator, don’t you?” Crowley asked.

Zira’s eyes darted to Crowley’s face. “Well. I. I mean-” Zira stuttered.

“No way.”

Zira clamped her mouth shut. She couldn’t take this. Not from Crowley.

“You’ve had tongue action, though, right? You must have boys falling at your feet.”

Zira felt her face getting hotter and hotter; she had to be tomato red.

“Wait- have you done _anything_?”

Zira turned away, busying herself with tidying her desk so that she didn’t have to look at Crowley’s face. She really hadn’t done much of anything at all, nothing Crowley didn’t know about, but she wouldn’t let Crowley know that. “Nothing below the waist, no,” she said, straightening her stacks of sweetly patterned post-it notes. She _had_ let Johnny from high school get to second base once, but it hadn’t been anything special.

“Why not?” Crowley asked, like it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard in her life.

“ _Because_ ,” Zira said, turning to Crowley again, her shame manifesting itself as anger. “ _I,_ unlike you, have a sense of propriety and common decency.”

“Who cares about propriety and decency! This is about _pleasure_. Are you telling me you haven’t tried anything? Not even with your fingers?”

Zira felt like she was going to explode from embarrassment. She dropped the desk tidying routine and threw herself onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow. “ _That_ , I have done,” Zira mumbled into her pillow.

“Any luck?”

“ _No!_ ” Zira responded, throwing a pillow at Crowley, who yelped. “I always get frustrated!”

Crowley apparently recovered from the shock of the thrown pillow quickly and responded coolly, “That’s because you don’t have a vibrator.” 

Zira buried her face in her pillow again and groaned.

“It’s okay!” Crowley assured. Crowley must have left the chair and crossed the room because Zira felt her climbing onto the bed with her. She lay next to Zira, between her and the wall, smoothing a hand over her back. “That’s an easy fix,” she said gently. “We’ll get you one. I know which ones are good.”

Zira shifted to lay on her side and face Crowley, arms still clutching the pillow. Crowley’s face was mere inches from her own face, which she knew was contorted into a pout. She could feel Crowley’s warmth and her breathing, and there were little tendrils of hair suspended between them, blonde and red tangling with static electricity. Crowley was looking at Zira with raised eyebrows in that way that said _I’m teasing a little, but I’m also being very genuine._

Zira felt herself smiling. There was honest to God no one else in this world Zira could talk to about this kind of thing. “Thanks,” Zira said.

Crowley shrugged playfully. “What are friends for, if not to make sure their friends are having orgasms?”

A quiet but steady laugh burst out of Zira’s mouth and she had to close her eyes and flip to her back. Crowley’s laugh joined her and they laughed until they couldn’t laugh anymore and they both became quiet, looking at the textured ceiling.

“How did you know?” Zira asked, after they had been laying quietly for some time.

“How did I know what?”

“That you wanted to stay with Bee? I mean, you’ve been together a while now. It’ll be a year soon.”

“Oh,” Crowley responded, sounding surprised by the question. “I don’t know that I knew anything. I think I just got tired of the chase, you know?”

“I _don’t_ know, Crowley. I’ve never chased anyone.”

“Well. I was bouncing around a lot, you know. It’s nice to just stick with one person, I think. You don’t have to play games. So, you know, Bee and I have fun together. And the sex is good. And that’s about all you need, right?”

“That doesn’t sound very romantic,” Zira said, tapping Crowley’s socked foot with her own.

“I don’t know if real life is all that romantic.”

“Hmm,” Zira said thoughtfully. “ Maybe you’re right,” she continued, feeling her and Crowley’s feet touching. Crowley locked her heel over Zira’s ankle so that their legs were just a little tangled. “Still,” Zira continued. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“They.”

“What?”

“They. Bee is non-binary.”

“Oh.” Zira said, furrowing her brows. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, well. It’s funny. In a way, getting kicked out of the sorority was the best thing for them. Made it easier for them to come out and live authentically, you know?”

Zira thought it did make a lot of sense, actually. She didn’t really understand the whole non-binary thing but, well, that didn’t really matter, did it? “How about you?” Zira asked, wiggling the foot hooked to Crowley’s and turning her head to look at her.

“What about me?”

“Was getting kicked out- or well, was leaving the sorority the best thing for you?”

Crowley shrugged. “I mean, I don’t mind that much, in all honesty. I don’t know if a sorority was the right place for me. I don’t think I was doing the whole sorority thing right, anyways. At least, not according to you.”

Zira bit her lip. “I was mean, wasn’t I?”

“Nah. I think you were honest.”

“I’m sorry it happened. You getting kicked out, I mean.” Zira kept watching Crowley, who continued to look at the ceiling. She seemed calm and collected, nonchalant.

“It doesn’t matter,” Crowley said. “I don’t have any use for it anymore. I joined a sorority to meet people. And I did. I met all the people I needed to meet.”

“Like Bee?”

“Bee,” Crowley confirmed with a firm nod. “And you,” she added, digging a sharp elbow into Zira’s side.

“Hey!” Zira said, laughing and pulling away. She flipped to her side and looked fully at Crowley, who was wearing a big, teasing smile, her eyes sparkling a little as they looked at each other. 

It was _so nice_ spending time with Crowley. She was Zira’s absolute best friend and Zira didn’t think she would ever find anyone better. They didn’t spend nearly enough time together, which was a shame, but it meant these times were all the more special. She felt herself fill up with happiness and contentment, like a balloon filling with air, as she gazed at Crowley. She wanted to remain in this little bubble with her forever.

“Do you want to spend the night?” Zira asked. Crowley raised an eyebrow, but she was smiling like Zira was offering to break a rule.

“Mikayla won’t mind?”

“She can get over it,” Zira said defiantly.

But then Crowley’s smile faded into something close to a frown. “I don’t think Bee would like it.”

Zira felt herself deflate, that happiness and contentment zipping out of her. “Oh. Right. Yeah, I understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Zira said. “You’ll be there for my birthday, right?” Her birthday was over a week away. She would probably see Crowley again before then, but she could never be sure. She had Bee, after all.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Crowley said.

Zira knew she shouldn’t have been jealous of Bee. It was great that Crowley had a long term relationship that she seemed happy in. It was just that sometimes Zira wished she could have Crowley to herself. 

Of course, that was life, wasn’t it? One day, Zira would have someone, too, and they would have even less time for each other. 

One day they would both be getting _married._ And things would _really_ be different, then. 

Zira knew she was going to get married one day. And she knew Crowley would be there, too, standing by her side. Crowley would be Zira’s Maid of Honor, she was certain. And Zira hoped she would be Crowley’s. And she wanted that one day, she _did._

But that was probably a long way away. For now, Zira only cared about spending time with her friend. But Crowley was happy, and Zira just glad she got the time she did with her. She really was such a good friend.

When Zira got home from classes on her birthday, there was a gift bag from Crowley resting on her bed. Someone had let Crowley into the sorority house and then into Zira’s room? Mikayla must not have been home. It must have been a younger sister. She would have to ask her Little about it, later. 

(It had to have been Eva who had let Crowley in. She spent so much of her free time in the house to avoid her two roommates- goodness, one random roommate was hard enough freshman year, the poor thing- _and_ she had immediately taken a liking to Crowley upon meeting her. God bless Eva and the sweet girls in her pledge class.)

Zira removed the tissue paper from the gift bag to find a cosmo magazine2., a small bottle of personal lubricant, and a black box. The box was a little larger than the one her iPod Classic had come in and it had the red apple Adam & Eve logo. 

There was a note in the bag, too.

Scrawled in Crowley’s messy handwriting and riddled with spelling mistakes was the following on a small scrap of notebook paper:

Docter’s Orders:

  * 1 Orgasm/day



Enclosed:

  * Prescribed medical device 



Directoins:

  * Apply prescribed device externaly via vibration
  * Most efective when taken with Cosmo smut exerpt or other dirty lit.
  * Prescrip may be substatuted by mouth (if you can find worthy one) for oral stimulatoin



Zira laughed. She wondered how long Crowley had taken to come up with that. Crowley thought she was so clever. Zira supposed she agreed.

Zira pulled out the black box and opened it. Inside was what looked like an adorable little pink toy bunny. It was made of silicone and it had a small knob on the back that Zira guessed was a handle, a charging port on the bottom, an accompanying charger in the box, and a pamphlet that boasted 7 different vibration settings.

Zira smiled to herself. Good old Crowley.

* * *

1. Panhellenic Council: this is the governing body for all Greek Life (fraternity and sorority) organizations at a specific university.

2. Cosmopolitan Magazine: this is a women’s magazine with themes including sex and relationships; each issue of this magazine includes a smutty excerpt from a romance novel at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: Playing With Fire, by Jennifer Nettles
> 
> So, my sorority house in college always had stacks of cosmo magazine in it, I have no idea why. BUT, I may or may not have been known to pick several up at random and dramatically read the smut for a giggling gaggle of sorority sisters, sometimes in public when we were out picnicking. Moral of the story- podfic listeners, get ready for the smutty chapters, because I both have practice and no shame.


	8. If Love Was Fair

**February 2014 (** **_Senior Year)_ **

**Zira’s Single, Phi Mu House**

Zira came to _love_ her bunny friend, but It was hard to find time to use it her sophomore and junior years, what with never knowing when Mikayla might come in the room. Luckily, Zira’s senior year, she was blessed with the only single room in the Phi Mu house.

She really had been lucky. Mikayla and Uri had gotten to choose their rooms first, being the President and Vice President. Oddly, neither of them wanted the single. They chose, instead, to room together in what was, in fairness, the biggest and nicest room in the house.

Sandy, as Recruitment Chair, got to choose next. Either she forgot that there was a single or the window in that first floor room was just that enticing, because she forewent the single, too.

Zira, as Sisterhood Chair, got to choose next.

It was a no-brainer. She had already lost her roommate to Uri and, even if Mikayla wasn’t the best roommate ever, Zira would have much preferred to room with someone she knew how to live with than someone new.

The single was miraculously still available, and even if it was small, Zira knew it would serve as the perfect retreat for her. Not just because she wanted to use her vibrator, but also because sharing a room could be tiring and Zira valued her alone time.

It also, coincidentally, meant it was much easier to have Crowley over.

Crowley got into the habit of swinging by the Phi Mu house after class, instead of heading straight to the bus to go back to her off campus apartment. Since Zira was usually there, she would let her in and they would escape to Zira’s room, where they would often do homework together or just hang out. Crowley was single again- she and Bee had drifted apart after Bee graduated (Crowley citing the long distance and resulting lack of sex as the main reason)- so there was no reason for her not to spend all the time in the world with Zira.

It was so natural for Crowley to be in Zira’s room that it didn’t drain her the way socialization often did and it was just as good, if not better, to have Crowley with her than to be alone.

(Crowley didn’t seem to be all that broken up about Bee. Perhaps Zira should have found that odd, but she was so happy to have her friend back that she hardly noticed. Not that she didn’t try to prod her on it- Crowley really just seemed fine. Anyways, it wasn’t as if Crowley would ever struggle to find someone new, and she was always so nonchalant about love. Just like she was about _everything._

Maybe Zira suspected there was something more there- some hurt Crowley didn’t let on about- and maybe that’s why Zira ignored Crowley’s regression into her more _casual_ tendencies. But if Crowley didn’t want to talk about it, it wasn’t really Zira’s business. Anyways, it was useful to have a friend with so much _experience._ Zira could really use the guidance.)

It was a sort of mundane day like any other when Crowley and Zira were lounging around in Zira’s room, just as they often did- Zira at her desk and Crowley sprawled across her bed- and Zira first told Crowley about Will O’Neill.

“Will. That’s kind of a sexy name,” Crowley said. “Like Will Turner from _Pirates of the Caribbean_. How do you know him again?”

“Well, you know how I go to those Sigma Tau Delta parties?” Zira asked. Sigma Tau Delta was the English honor society Zira had been a member of three years running, and more recently, become the secretary of.

“Yeah.”

“He’s the one that hosts them. He’s the president, you know.”

The parties Will O’Neill hosted were small and intimate. Will was a wine enthusiast, so he always had nice bottles and Zira felt exceptionally classy drinking from them. The people that went to Will’s parties were mostly seniors in Sigma Tau Delta and the gatherings often went late into the evenings with open conversation in the living room of Will’s nice apartment.

The conversation sometimes centered around intellectual topics related to the shared interests of the group that included classic literature, writing, and any manner of things of a philosophical nature. But, more often than not, the conversation centered around not these topics, but- well, what else do drunk college seniors talk about? Sex.

Zira was shy in these conversations due to her general lack of experience in the subject matter, but the conversations fascinated her. She liked to hear what her friends had to say and _especially_ what Will had to say. She liked to imagine doing the things her friends talked about. She liked to imagine _Will_ doing the things _he_ talked about _to her_.

Zira liked Will. She thought he was very impressive and smart. She also happened to think he was very sexy. Zira made a habit of sitting real close to Will on the couch during these parties and Will seemed perfectly happy with that. He often put a hand on Zira’s thigh or wrapped an arm around her waist and Zira took these behaviors as a very good indicator that he was interested.

They also made her body feel electrified. She craved _so much more_.

It took effort to screw up her courage, but she finally managed to ask him to the Valentine’s Phi Mu date party. The date parties were often held in private rooms of restaurants and attendees would dress up. There would be catering and people would order cocktails and it seemed like exactly the thing to break the ice with Will.

It was after she had finally asked him that she relayed the info to Crowley, knowing that she could count on her advice and expertise.

“You should wear a dress. Something flouncy,” Crowley said.

“Flouncy?”

“You know, something all flowy with a loose skirt.” Crowley sat up and waved her hands in a gesture that Zira guessed was supposed to indicate the silhouette of the kind of skirt she was talking about.

“Why?” Zira asked in concern. “Do you think more form fitting dresses are less flattering on me?”

“No,” Crowley said, waving her hand, like that should be the least of her worries. “I’m sure all your dresses look great. I’m saying that because- well. Do you think afterwards you are going to-” Crowley gave Zira a meaningful look, raising her eyebrows. “ _You know.”_

Zira moved from her desk chair to the bed to sit next to Crowley. She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them shyly. “I’d like to,” she said. “I mean, it’s not like I just met him. I’ve known him for a while. And, anyways, I think I’m ready.”

“Well, there you go. That’s why you should wear a flouncy dress.” Zira looked up at Crowley and stared at her blankly. “Easier access to your cunt,” Crowley explained, pointing at Zira’s nether regions.

“ _Crowley!”_ Zira chastised, feeling her face heat as her eyes widened in alarm.

“What? You want him to put his mouth down there, right? I don’t think there is anything sexier than just pulling up your skirt. Do you have lacy underwear?”

Zira looked down at her hands again. “I’m not sure if I’ll get to show him my underwear, lacy or not.”

“Why not?”

“Well, so there’s a little wrinkle,” Zira said, feeling her face warm.

“A wrinkle?”

“A complication in the situation.”

“Okay…”

Zira looked up at Crowley. “He told me, when I asked him, he told me he would love to go with me. But then he texted me later and backtracked a little, but, I mean, we’re still going together.”

“What do you mean he backtracked?”

Zira went back to her desk to grab her phone and then returned to Crowley. She found the text message and passed her phone over.

  
  


Will O’Neill

Sat, Feb 8, 2:19 PM

Hey Zira! Thank you for inviting me to the date party, I’m really excited about it! I just wanted to let you know, so that I’m completely honest, I’m kind of seeing someone right now. I would still love to go with you, but I would understand if you changed your mind.

|   
---|---  
  
Sat, Feb 8, 8:03 PM

| 

Hi, Will! Thank you for telling me. I would still love to have you as my date.  
  
---|---  
  
Great! Looking forward to it! 

|   
  
Zira had fretted over the message, worrying about how to respond, and then finally responding and wondering if she had said the wrong thing. But she had wanted to remain optimistic. Now, she fretted over Crowley’s reaction. Crowley was much better at these things than Zira.

Crowley furrowed her eyebrows, gazing at the cell phone. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well-“

“The thing is,” Zira defended, looking at Crowley and trying to better explain the situation. Hoping Crowley might understand. “Just based on, you know, what he has mentioned in the group and all, I think he has a friends-with-benefits thing going on with someone. And so, I think he just wants to make sure if I find out, I don’t become upset.”

“Could be.”

“And, if that’s all it is, then it’s really not anything, is it? The way he flirts with me makes me think that _must_ be what it is. There is no way he would act like that if he wasn’t interested.”

“What does he do?”

“He touches me and wraps his arm around me and whispers in my ear. I mean, he regularly flirts with me openly in front of everyone. Several people have asked me if we are together.”

Crowley looked at Zira thoughtfully. “I mean, if you know he has a friends-with-benefits thing going on and he acts like that, then you are probably right,” she said, shrugging. “Plenty of people do that. He probably hasn’t decided whether he wants to end his friends-with-benefits thing for a relationship yet.”

Zira felt incredibly relieved and validated by Crowley’s agreement and started to feel excited instead of nervous. If Crowley thought it was a reasonable assumption, then she wasn’t a complete dope.

“I bet when he sees you looking completely sexy in your flouncy dress, Will Not-Turner will make the decision right then and there,” Crowley added. “He would be stupid not to.”

Zira blushed. She hoped Crowley was right.

With Crowley’s support and encouragement, Zira felt confident she could win Will over. In the week leading up to the date party, Crowley helped Zira strategize and she helped her pick out her dress. On the day, she showered her with life-giving compliments and sent her luck and well wishes. Zira was so incredibly lucky to have such a wonderful friend.

At the date party, Will was a very attentive date. He was gentlemanly, getting Zira drinks and talking to her quietly. He put his hand on the small of her back and put his arm around her and sat very close to her when they were in a restaurant booth. Zira’s sisters gave her knowing glances, and she felt on top of the world.

Zira was thankful she had taken Crowley’s advice and worn the flouncy dress, because Will seemed to enjoy touching her skirt and she became progressively giddier throughout the night thinking she might have a chance to feel more of that touch.

Will walked her home to the Phi Mu house and he actually _held Zira’s hand_ . His hand felt warm and good and _right_ entangled in Zira’s.

Zira was pretty certain _everyone_ knew what she was trying to do with Will O’Neill and it was a good thing, because as her sisters filtered by to go home as well, they gave her and Will a wide girth.

As the two of them stood outside the house lingering, Will playing with Zira’s hand, Zira sent a silent prayer to Heaven above thanking God for her single.

And then, very shyly, Zira said, “You’re welcome to come up to my room.”

Will didn’t let go of Zira’s hand, but his face contorted. “Zira…” he said. “I really like you. I do. It’s just that, this thing that I have going on with this other girl is very new…”

New? The friends-with-benefits thing Zira knew about wasn’t _new_.

As the implication of what Will was saying began to dawn on Zira, her face started becoming very hot and her eyes became watery.

“If the circumstances were different…” Will was saying.

“I, um, I understand,” Zira managed to say, despite the fact that she could feel her throat closing up. She took her hand back and felt it curling into a tight fist.

“I had a nice night tonight…”

“Mmhmm,” Zira said, lips pressed together and eyes blinking rapidly to try to prevent the tears from bursting forth.

She needed Will to leave. How could she get Will to leave when she didn’t think she could speak?

“Well, I guess I should go,” Will said. Zira thanked the Lord Almighty.

Will leaned in and wrapped his arms around Zira in the most awkward hug of the century, considering that she remained stiff as a board.

When he finally released her and walked away, Zira nearly ran into the house and up the stairs, darting straight into her room, trying her best to avoid eye contact with anyone she happened to pass.

She locked her door behind her and collapsed onto her bed, kicking off her high heels carelessly with tears already streaming down her face. She fumbled with the clutch she had been using for the night and pulled out her phone, ignoring the makeup that spilled out as a result.

She texted Crowley.

Crowley

Fri, Feb 15, 10:42 PM

| 

He’s dating someone for real, it wasn’t a friends with benefits thing.  
  
---|---  
  
Shit. I’m sorry, Zira. Do you want to talk?

|   
| 

Maybe later. I think I need to just sleep this off. I am so tired.  
  
Okay. Just let me know if you need me, okay?

|   
| 

Okay.  
  
  
  


Zira cried herself to sleep that night.

  
  


* * *

Zira was in her backyard in Georgia again. It was exactly as it was before: clear sky, hot sun, soft grass. Bare toes wiggling against the pliant ground.

Once again, it felt ethereal.

Once again, she was thirsty.

Once again, the peach tree called out to her.

She felt herself gliding towards the tree, responding to its draw. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around a fruit, tugging to release it. She brought it to her lips and bit.

This time, it was right. The fussy skin covering the soft fruit, the sweet sticky juice dribbling down her chin.

She looked at the tree, and it was still full of peaches.

A rustling reminded her of another tree. One beyond the peach tree.

It was another tree Zira had helped her daddy plant, even earlier than the peach tree. The weeping willow had been so small then, it was hard to believe the large, sweeping thing, the cathedral of a tree, was the same one.

It was breathtakingly beautiful, the tree. The green curtains of leaves shifted in the breeze like they were welcoming Zira into the fortress beneath.

Zira wanted to go to that tree.

But she had the peaches. The peaches were perfect.

Zira looked at the peach still in her hand. In the time since she had taken her bite, it had grown rotten: shriveled up and black. The peach taste turned sour in her mouth.

Zira was disgusted. She dropped the peach in the grass.

She looked up to the peach tree again. All the peaches were shriveled and black.

The willow continued to rustle beyond the peach tree, hovering in the background like a parent waiting patiently for their child at the edge of the playground.

Zira looked at the tree. Just beyond the cascade of green leaves, inside the shelter of the tree, Zira saw something she didn’t expect.

She saw a glint of red.

Red curls popped out of the leaves and out stepped Crowley, dressed in all black. Skinny jeans and a leather jacket and a red apple in her hand that she tossed in the air and caught at her side in a steady rhythm.

She was smiling. With her unoccupied hand, she beckoned for Zira.

It was as if Zira was on a moving walkway, like the ones at airports. She didn’t pick up her feet, but she glided straight to Crowley.

She stopped abruptly a foot away.

Crowley stopped tossing the apple and instead brought it to her mouth. Zira heard the crunch as Crowley bit.

Crowley held out the bitten fruit to Zira. It had a beautiful white circle of exposed apple where Crowley had eaten from it. Zira knew, without knowing how or why, that she was meant to take the apple and bite from it.

Her own hand reached out and closed over the fruit, fingers brushing Crowley’s as it did, and she brought the apple to her face.

Zira put her mouth where Crowley’s had been and bit.

It wasn’t what she had been looking for.

It wasn’t what she had wanted.

But it was exactly what she needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: If Love Was Fair, by Ashley Monroe
> 
> (If you are following the playlist, get ready for a lot of Ashley Monroe, bc I love her.)


	9. I Feel a Sin Comin' On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shout out to @miss-minnelli, who did a read through of this chapter for me and gave me much needed re-assurance and encouragement. Thank you!!!
> 
> CW: Smut. ( _But Jam??? Already???_ Yes. Here we go!)

**March 2014 ( _Senior Year)_**

**Zira’s Single, Phi Mu House**

“What are you looking at?” Crowley asked from her seat cross legged in the middle of Zira’s bed. Zira was laying next to her already in pajamas and was scrolling on her iPhone 4 while Crowley doodled in her art history notebook, apparently not doing the studying she was supposed to be doing for her upcoming exam.

“Just pictures of Will O’Neill’s _girlfriend,”_ Zira said, sitting up to shove her phone in Crowley’s face. His relationship status had just changed, allowing Zira to discover just _who_ the mystery girl was.

Crowley took the phone and swiped through some photos from the social media page Zira had been agonizing over. “Oh shit. She looks like you.”

“I know!”

“That is a deep cut.”

“Ugh. Sure is.” Zira fell back onto the bed dramatically and stared at the ceiling. “Oh _Crowley_ , I’m just a hot mess, aren’t I?”

“You’re not a hot mess.”

“I _am_. Here I am chasin’ after a boy that won’t even give me the time of day.”

“No way. He was leading you on. You had no way of knowing.”

“I had every way of knowing. He told me he was with someone, I was just too stupid to believe he was serious. God, I’m so stupid.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Crowley swatted Zira’s leg with her notebook. “You are not stupid. Remind me, how many semesters in a row have you been on the Dean’s list?”

Zira propped herself up to look at Crowley and cracked a smile. “That’s not the same thing, and you know it.”

“Well, I’ve never been on the Dean’s list, so. I don’t think I’m graduating cum laude or whatever.”

“Yes, but look at you, Crowley,” Zira said, gesturing to Crowley’s body. “You are desirable. You could be with anyone you wanted.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Zira fell back again and looked at the ceiling. “I am turning 22, I am in my last semester of college, and I have barely kissed anyone.”

“That’s not because you aren’t ‘desirable’. It’s because the boys at this school are trash. Why do you think I haven’t been with any of them? They are all still mentally 14 and they can’t keep up with someone so classy, and smart, and sweet, and...” Crowley paused, like she didn’t want to say the last thing. She collapsed backwards on the bed next to Zira and turned her face away. “You are hot as fuck, you are a great catch, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” Crowley finished stubbornly.

Zira felt a burst of warmth in her chest as she bounced up to her side to prop herself up on her elbow and look at her friend.

“Oh, _Crowley_. You are just the biggest sweetheart.”

“Yep. That’s me. America’s darling,” she said, still looking away, with the tone of a surly teenager who would rather be anywhere else.

“You may not be _America’s_ darling, but you are my darling.”

“Well. That’s something, I guess.”

“It _is_ ,” Zira insisted, wrapping her arm around Crowley and resting her head on her shoulder. Crowley patted Zira’s arm awkwardly.

They lay together, Zira feeling pleasantly warm, and didn’t say anything for some time.

Zira’s mind wandered back to Will O’Neill and the fact that she had thought she was so close to having a real boyfriend. She would have been a really good girlfriend, too! She would have baked him cookies and co-hosted his parties and helped him with job applications and done all the things good girlfriends do!

Besides that, she had thought that she would finally be able to reduce her reliance on her _bunny friend_. She may have learned the secrets of womanhood early, but now there was a club she wasn’t sure she would get to join.

“I’m never going to have sex,” Zira said flatly.

Crowley didn’t respond for a while. Zira half expected Crowley to agree and say something to communicate her pity, but she didn’t. Instead, she said something Zira didn’t expect at all.

“I can help you.”

“What?” Zira asked, tilting her head to see Crowley’s face. She was at a loss for what Crowley meant.

“I mean,” she said, looking only at the ceiling. “Virginity is a myth. It’s a social construct created to oppress women.”

It wasn’t the first time Crowley had said something like that. Crowley had strong opinions about the concept of virginity that Zira wanted to take to heart, but that she had a hard time accepting, thanks to her conservative Christian upbringing. Still, she knew better than to argue the point. 

“Yes,” she agreed. “That doesn’t change my desire to lose mine.”

“ _Yeah_ , but my point is: virginity itself, and all this stuff about who you lose it to or whatever, none of that actually matters. What you are looking for is experience, right? I mean, you are just nervous that the longer it _goes_ , the weirder it will _be_ and the more nervous you will be and that you won’t know what to do, right?”

“Wow, you are _really_ helping.”

“What I’m saying is- I could, you know. Give you some experience? Just so you know what it feels like. Just so you know what’s _coming_. It will remove the curtain, you know? And it won’t be so scary.”

Zira lifted herself up to look at Crowley squarely. Was she really suggesting what Zira thought she was suggesting? She must have been, because her face was distinctly red.

“Look. I know it won’t be the same,” Crowley defended, slightly panicked eyes searching Zira’s. “But, it’s not a big deal for me because I have done this a lot. You can imagine I’m a guy you like. Just think of it as practice.”

It was true that Crowley had done it countless times with a startling number of girls. And non-binary people, Zira supposed. Just a lot of people, a startling number of people. 

It was true that letting her do it would take the edge off of her own anxiety regarding her sexual experience. It was like Crowley said: it would remove the curtain.

The third thing that was true, was that, from a _Christian_ perspective, what Crowley was offering to do wouldn’t really count as taking away Zira’s virginity. So, she could gain some experience while her virginity remained intact in the eyes of the Lord. 

There were no cons. 

There was, of course, a big danger flag that was the fact that both of these girls had very complicated feelings for each other brewing just under the surface. Zira, though, being the good Southern girl that she was, promptly ignored that flag.

“Okay,” she said. 

“Really?” Crowley asked, like she had been ready to be laughed off or kicked out of the room.

“Yes,” Zira responded firmly. She looked at Crowley and frantically waved her hand in the direction of the door. “Go lock the door!” she said. Crowley jumped up and obeyed, clicking the door locked while Zira laid down on the bed. She wiggled with uncertainty. “What should I do?” she asked. 

“That’s fine. Just lay back.”

Zira nodded and focused on the ceiling, feeling her body tense. This was odd, wasn’t it? But it was _Crowley_. It was _fine._

Crowley rejoined Zira on the bed. “Close your eyes and relax,” Crowley said. Zira tried to do what she said. It was hard, because her heart had decided to do a freestyle drum solo, but Crowley’s voice was surprisingly soothing. Zira tried to focus on that, slowing her breathing as best she could. “Now imagine you are Sally and I’m Harry.”

Zira opened her eyes and looked at Crowley strangely.

“Like from _When Harry Met Sally_ ,” Crowley defended. “Isn’t that your favorite movie?”

“ _One_ of my favorites. But I don’t want to imagine we are Harry and Sally.”

“Fine. Just close your eyes and relax, then.” 

Zira closed her eyes and breathed slowly. She could feel Crowley lying next to her, the warmth emanating off of her, the minor shifts of the mattress as she moved and adjusted herself.

“Okay. Now imagine your perfect guy,” Crowley said softly, deepening her voice. She spoke low and slow, her voice sounding silky smooth. “You’ve met this man and he is smart and he is funny and he is kind. He listens to you and he gets your jokes.” Zira let Crowley’s voice lull her into a greater sense of relaxation. Did Crowley know she was describing herself? “He is good looking.” Zira felt a warm hand on her abdomen, inching beneath her pajama shirt. “Just let me know if you want me to stop at any time,” Crowley said softly. Zira nodded.

“This is a man you can talk to for hours,” she continued in that smooth voice. She ran her hand across Zira’s stomach gently, making Zira feel tingly. She felt entranced by her voice. “You like him. And he likes you. And you think he is worthy of you. So you invite him into your bed.” 

Crowley’s hand went further up Zira’s shirt and she traced the bottom curve of one of Zira’s breasts with her thumb. “Is this okay?” Zira nodded again. She could feel her heartbeat beginning to pick up again. She was happy that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Crowley smoothed a hand over Zira’s breast. Not squeezing, just lightly sweeping. Zira could feel her nipple harden slightly under Crowley’s hand.

“This man _is_ worthy of you, so he knows to worship you like the goddess you are.” Crowley’s hand smoothed over Zira’s other breast, pausing to tease her nipple with her thumb. Zira’s breath hitched at the feeling. (It hadn’t felt anything like this with Johnny in high school.)

“This man tells you he loves you. You believe him because he is an honest man. He does love you.” Zira couldn’t help but feel like these words were coming more from Crowley than from this imagined man. She _wanted_ them to be coming from Crowley instead of this imagined man. She knew she shouldn’t have been thinking something like that and she felt herself getting hot, but it all felt so _good_. She didn’t want Crowley to stop.

Crowley’s hand traced down the middle of Zira’s ribcage and over her stomach, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. She picked up her hand and Zira missed the warm contact, but then she felt her hand return to her skin on the inside of her thigh, just below her cutesy pajama shorts. Zira could feel her veins pulsing underneath Crowley’s fingers. 

“You love him, too,” Crowley said, running her hand slowly up and down Zira’s thigh. Zira felt the mattress moving and Crowley shifting her body downwards. 

Zira felt like her heart had dropped straight to her vagina. She knew what was coming and she was feeling nervous, but also sensitive, like a little breeze down there would send her over a cliff. 

“He’s slow,” Crowley said. Zira felt warm lips touching her right knee. “Because he wants this to be good for you.” Zira’s nerves calmed just slightly as she felt Crowley’s words vibrate through her knee. She felt Crowley gently opening her legs, causing her knees to bend. 

Crowley left a trail of burning kisses up Zira’s right thigh and another down her left one. Zira realized Crowley was laying on her stomach between her legs as her fingers danced with the frilly edges of Zira’s pajama shorts.

“Because your man is a fan of consent,” Crowley said. “When he can no longer resist tearing off your sexy little shorts, he will ask very nicely and politely: May I?”

Zira waited for Crowley to take her shorts off, but she didn’t. She just kept playing with the edges. Zira opened her eyes and looked down at Crowley. 

Crowley was gazing up at her, eyebrows raised imploringly. Her pupils were slightly dilated, even though the lights were still on, and she was biting her lip like she was trying to keep it from trembling. Zira realized that she was actually asking.

Zira nodded frantically because she felt like she was going to explode at the strength of her desire. Seeing Crowley looking lust filled only amplified the feeling.

Crowley firmly grasped Zira’s shorts by the elastic waistband, but she pulled them off gently, like they were something fragile, like she didn’t want Zira to shatter beneath her. Gingerly setting the shorts aside, she scooted forward and wrapped her arms around Zira’s thighs.

Crowley’s eyes were laser focused on Zira’s panties. Zira wondered what panties she was wearing- she couldn’t remember. She hoped they were cute.

She saw Crowley’s head moving forward, and then she felt her lips touch her over her panties, kissing her right where her clitoris was. Zira had to close her eyes again as she felt a needle of pleasure spike through her.

“Is this still okay?” Crowley asked, her voice husky.

“ _Yes,”_ Zira breathed. She noticed that her breathing had become shallow and she wondered if Crowley had heard her.

She must have, because she pushed Zira’s pajama shirt up enough to expose her belly button, then she stroked the seams of Zira’s panties along her hips with her index fingers. 

“He will take directions well,” Crowley said, her mouth hovering over Zira’s midriff. “Because he knows you know better than anyone what feels good for you.” Crowley kissed Zira’s belly button and she could feel her blood pumping in her clitoris, asking for more touch. 

Zira understood, this time, that Crowley was prompting her again. “Go ahead,” she breathed.

It wasn’t until she felt the fabric of her panties pulled away that Zira realized how wet they had been. The air exposure made her entire vulva pulse.

“Let me know if I do anything you don’t like or if you want me to do anything differently or if you want me to stop,” Crowley said.

Zira just nodded, her anticipation stripping her of her ability to speak once again. Zira nearly stopped breathing when Crowley’s mouth made contact.

Zira had spent plenty of time with her bunny friend, but nothing compared to the feeling of Crowley’s tongue. It was soft, and the way it moved- delicate but with intention, tracing along her labia and dancing around the head of her clitoris so that Zira’s nerve endings went wild- the feeling was unparalleled. 

She lost herself to the sensations, which were much more powerful than anything she had produced for herself. She didn’t need to think of any imagined man because everything she needed was right there between her legs already. Curls and freckles and soft lips. 

It didn’t take long for pleasure to start building in Zira’s abdomen. Her body writhed and sounds spilled out of her mouth and then, entirely by accident, a name slipped out.

“ _Crowley,_ ” Zira heard herself moan, too late to stop it.

Crowley lifted her head and Zira’s body protested because she had been _so close._

“You okay?” Crowley asked in alarm. 

“Yes, yes,” Zira moaned, feeling plumb1. drunk. _Why_ had she said Crowley’s name? Of course Crowley hadn’t expected it and she’d thought it meant Zira wanted her to stop. She really, _really_ hadn’t wanted her to stop. “Please keep going,” Zira begged meekly.

Crowley eyed her cautiously, but then she restarted and Zira took extra care to keep control of her mouth. She focused her thoughts on the pleasure- letting it build, letting that tongue work its magic. She focused on the glorious sensations and their increasing intensity until her body felt like a stretched rubber band ready to snap.

She felt her body release as she reached some odd ecstasy and she knew that she had finished. Crowley must have felt it in her body, because she slowed down, though she kept kissing her down there, causing little aftershocks of pleasure to ripple through Zira’s body.

When Crowley pulled away, Zira felt herself breathing heavily. She felt like giggling, like she was on laughing gas.

“Wow,” Zira said, staring at the ceiling and feeling a little delirious.

“See,” Zira heard Crowley say. “It’s not a big deal.”

“That was a big deal, Crowley,” Zira said, closing her eyes and clinging to the afterglow. “ _God_ , no wonder people want to do it all the time.”

“It’s not always good, you know. I mean, I’m glad that it was this time.”

“Well,” Zira said serenely. “A little bird told me you have a lot of experience.”

“Yeah. Listen- I should probably go. Study for my art history test.”

Zira shot up to a sitting position, crossing her legs and putting a pillow on her lap. She looked at Crowley for the first time and noticed that she looked like a flighty bird, perched on the corner of the bed and ready to take off at any moment.

“Um. Okay,” Zira said awkwardly. She didn’t want Crowley to go, but she was starting to realize how odd all this had been. She really hoped it didn’t make their friendship weird. She really hoped she could ignore the fact that she had enjoyed it a little too much. 

Crowley got up and began gathering her stuff together. “See you at lunch tomorrow?” Zira asked hopefully. 

“Course,” Crowley said, without looking at Zira. With that, and all her things in hand, she went on her way.

* * *

1. Plumb: [Southern Colloquialism] Completely or entirely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: I Feel a Sin Comin' On, Pistol Annies
> 
> I'm not saying that one scene in _The Duchess_ awakened something in me, _buuuut...._


	10. Wild Love

**July 2017**

**Zira’s Apartment**

**Near Biltmore Village 1 **

**Asheville, North Carolina**

Zira laid on her couch and gazed at the painting on the wall behind it. It was a painting of a seagull. It wasn’t perfect. It was abstract with sharp lines and bold colors. It had been hanging right there, for three years, from when Zira had moved in.

She remembered it clear as day: Crowley handing it to her as a housewarming gift the Friday night after she had settled in. Crowley saying “Thought I might help bring some color in.” Her own response: “Oh, _Crowley_ , this is _beautiful_.”

“It’s not really that good,” Crowley had responded. “In fact- I should take it back. I’ll make you a better one,” she had said, trying to reach for the painting in Zira’s hands. Zira had dodged her reaching fingers, keeping the painting out of Crowley’s grasp, and then hugging it to her heart.

“Don’t you dare! This was a gift.”

“I don’t think I did the lighting right. And the body is all wonky.... It’s not very good.”

“Don’t say that about my friend’s work.”

Crowley hadn’t been able to say anything to that. 

“Go get the toolbox from the coat closet. I’m going to put this up right now.”

Zira had stood on the couch, waiting for Crowley to return with a hammer and nails. 

“You are putting it in the living room? Right above the couch? It’s not very big.”

“I don’t care. I want everyone to see it when they come in. And then when they say ‘wow, look at that beautiful seagull!’ I will say, ‘It _is_ beautiful, isn’t it? My friend the artist painted it and you should all go buy her work right now.’ And they all will and you will become very rich and famous.”

Crowley had laughed. “Whatever you say.”

When the painting had been hung, Zira had returned to the floor to admire it

“You are very talented, you know.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

They went on to drink an entire bottle of muscadine wine2 together that night, celebrating Zira’s move. She was starting an internship as part of the communications team at a non-profit, and that had seemed the most exciting thing in the world at the time.

Now the painting made her sad, but she would never take it down.

“Why a seagull?” Zira had asked over wine.

“It represents me, I guess,” Crowley had said. “From growing up in Wanchese. Not that Wanchese is an incredible place, or anything. But there was something nice about it. Growing up by the sea. And everybody hates seagulls. But I like them.”

“Do you miss it?”

“What?”

“Wanchese?”

“I miss the sea and the beach. I don’t miss Wanchese.”

“You should take me sometime. I want to see where you grew up.”

“No you don’t.”

“To the beach, then. I want to see the Outer Banks.”

“Yeah,” Crowley had said. “We could do that.”

They never did take a trip to the Outer Banks. It was a long drive from Asheville. Hard to believe the Outer Banks were in the same state, really.

Crowley had lived in Asheville like Zira for a while, doing freelance art, trying to sell work on the street. Asheville was the perfect place for it: big art scene. She did okay for nearly a year, but she was easily frustrated, and it wasn’t an easy way to make a living. 

She also wasn’t one who took help easily. 

She started living in a hostel, with nothing but a backpack and art supplies. It was easier, without a big rent bill to pay. 

It was during that time that she met Dan. Dan was at least ten years her senior and had nothing to his name but an old van outfitted for sleeping, a guitar, and a handful of pretty decent original songs.

Zira had not hidden her dislike for Dan. That had been a mistake. Who cared about what Zira thought of Dan? It was more important to have Crowley in her life. At least, she should have been thinking that. She hadn’t expected Crowley to end up traveling across the eastern seaboard living out of Dan’s van.

Zira still dreamt about Crowley. It was much more clear cut, these days. Warm skin touching. Panting breaths. Lips and soft things. Flaming red hair and a wicked tongue. Sometimes, Zira woke up sweating.

It was terrible, and it was exactly the wrong thing to do, but, sometimes, she held onto the images and turned to her bunny friend. She would bring herself to orgasm on invented feelings of Crowley’s warm breath and skillful fingers. Crowley’s artist hands and wet mouth burning a painting into her flesh.

More often than not, she would cry afterwards. She would wonder where Crowley was or what she was doing. Crowley only posted to social media sparingly. She probably didn’t have a lot of internet access, living on the road like she did. Or maybe she was too busy with _Dan_. 

Van Dan. Who she was blowing and screwing and probably getting high with in the back of that dirty, _effing_ van.

The painting of the seagull made Zira feel sad, but she would never take it down.

Odd that she had been thinking about Crowley that night, because of what happened the next day. Maybe not so odd- she thought about her frequently. But because of the next day, the thoughts from that particular night would stick in Zira’s mind.

The next day, Zira was looking out the window of her downtown office, where she worked her less than ideal job as a copy editor for a local newspaper, and she saw the van out on the street. There was no mistaking Dan’s van, what with the peeling logo for his failed band and the odd assortment of Star Wars and Star Trek stickers that indicated he didn’t actually know much about either. 

Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest.

She told someone in the office that she had a family emergency and then burst out of the place with her things, running down four flights of stairs. She should have been collapsing on the ground by the time she made it outside, but she was working on pure adrenaline. Barely missing a car driving through, Zira weaved through the slow moving cars in stop and go traffic and the crowds of tourists and Ashevillians. 

The van was parked across the way on a street jutting out perpendicularly from the street Zira worked on. The street went uphill because everything in Asheville went up or downhill. It looked like too hard of a shove would send the stupid van rolling along its way. Zira would have liked to see that.

Reaching the van, Zira peered into the driver’s side window. No one was sitting in the front two seats of the car. It was impossible to tell if anyone was in the back part of the van because there was a divider. There were also brown and yellow psychedelic curtains covering the windows, like it was the dang Mystery Machine, except instead of cartoon teenage detectives and their talking dog, it was home to an idiot man in his thirties who probably liked to pretend he remembered Woodstock.

Zira guessed a man like that could very well sleep during the day, so she went to one of the back windows. Not paying any mind to whatever filth may have gotten on her navy work dress from leaning against the van, she banged on the window as hard as she could. She could actually feel the van rocking a little bit as a result of her banging. 

To Zira’s surprise, one of the doors opened and out stumbled Dan. 

Dan looked like your typical hipster: man bun, gages, that dazed look that suggested he was stoned. All he needed was a Che Guevara t-shirt and he would be the picture perfect definition of the modern asshole. Instead, the worn shirt he wore with his ripped skinny jeans featured what seemed to be a band Zira had never heard of. 

Dan seemed to see Zira for the first time. “Thank God,” he drawled in a voice that signaled that yes, he probably was stoned. “I thought you were a cop. Fuck cops, man.”

Zira wasn’t sure why he would be concerned about cops in the hippie haven of the South (‘Namaste, Y’all!’ was a common bumper sticker in Asheville, and people weren’t being ironic), but she was not looking for small talk. “Where is Crowley?” she asked as politely as she could. Dan looked at her blankly and Zira felt her patience quickly wearing thin.

“Is she in there?” Zira asked slowly, like she was talking to a 5-year-old. She pushed past Dan, not intimidated by the foot he had on her, to look into the back of the van. There was no Crowley, just a van bed and a bunch of tangled blankets.

Zira turned and looked up at Dan, trying not to let the fear show on her face. “Why isn’t Crowley with you?” she asked calmly.

“Not even gonna introduce yourself?”

“We’ve met,” Zira said, unamused.

Dan considered Zira for a moment. “I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head. “I would have remembered meeting a beautiful woman such as yourself.”

Zira knew she had been right about not liking this guy. She took a deep breath and plastered on a smile. “Well, aren’t you precious?” Zira said, with enough passive aggression to make the Church ladies back home blush. “Now, I know this is hard for you to understand, but I am not here to see you. I am looking for my friend, Crowley, who I happen to know you are well acquainted with. If you could just tell me where she is, I’ll be on my way.”

“We have recently become disacquainted, actually. Which is lucky for you, because I’m a free man,” Dan said with a wink.

Zira frowned. “Crowley’s not with you anymore,” Zira stated in a hollow voice. “Is she here? In Asheville, I mean?”

“Pfff. That’s why I’m here in this sorry excuse for a city.” 

Okay, so she was in Asheville. That was something, at least. Asheville wasn’t very big, she couldn’t have been too hard to find. 

“She demanded I drive her here,” Dan was saying. “I did it just to get her off my case. She was always so demanding. Couldn’t take it easy.” Were they talking about the same Crowley? How much of a lowlife did someone have to be to have _Crowley_ on their case? 

“Do you know where she is?” Zira asked, aware of the panic building in her chest. If Crowley was vulnerable and alone somewhere in Asheville, Zira was going to find her.

“Yeah, she went to that hostel with the pea pod on the front? Good thing it has that big pea pod, or she wouldn’t be able to find it. The girl can barely read. Between you and me, she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.”

Zira wasn’t really listening to Dan. The gears in her brain were turning rapidly. The hostel with the pea pod. Zira knew the one.

She began hurrying off, but then she swiveled to face Dan, fully registering what he had just said. “Crowley is dyslexic, you absolute buffoon!” she called back angrily. She swiveled again and stormed off, not sorry to see the last of Van Dan.

Zira abandoned her car, which was parked a ways away in the opposite direction, and which probably would have been slower anyways, what with all the traffic and one-way streets. Instead, she walked six blocks to get to the hostel with the pea pod logo. She’d seen the hostel many times, but never entered. This time, she did enter and, just inside, she saw a young, friendly lumberjack looking man at a small counter. Zira went straight to him, on a mission.

“Hello. I would like to visit a friend who is staying here.”

“Does your friend have a name? I could ask your friend to come out.”

“Yes. Antoinette Crowley.” The name Antoinette sounded entirely wrong on Zira’s lips. She understood why Crowley didn’t like it.

“And your name, ma’am?”

“Zira Fell.”

“Alrighty then. I will go check.”

Zira tapped her foot, waiting for the man to return. When he did, she was only disappointed.

“Sorry, ma’am, no one responded to that name.”

“But, she’s here. I know that she is. Look in your book.” 

“She might not be there right now.”

“Let me check,” Zira demanded, noting the slight pitch of histeria coming out in her voice.

“I can’t let you go back there, ma’am. Not without paying for a bed.”

“How much is a bed?”

“$25 for one night, $75 for a week.”

“Just one night, please,” Zira said, fishing out her wallet.

The man made her fill out a form, which was just a waste of time, and then he went through the song and dance of showing her the locations of the linens and showers. Zira was getting very impatient. Finally, he took her to the room, saying she could take any bed that was empty. The room contained 16 plain bunk beds and a smattering of duffle bags and scruffy lounging people.

After a quick scan of the room, Zira caught a glimpse of red curls in a top bunk.

“Crowley!” Zira exclaimed, striding to the bed. 

Crowley lifted her head and smiled. She had a new piercing over her lip and several new piercings on the cartilage of her right ear. Her eyes looked unfocused. “Well, _hello,_ stranger,” she said. “Aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes?” She leaned over the metal bed railing, elbows hanging over it, and Zira saw that she was holding a bottle of some kind of liquor.

Zira’s eyes narrowed, looking at the bottle. “How much have you had to drink?” Zira asked.

“You know that Dan dumped me?” Crowley said. She started laughing and Zira couldn’t see what was funny. “Two fucking years!” Crowley leaned back and took a swig from the bottle. 

“Crowley, could you please give me that bottle?”

“Oh!” Crowley turned back to Zira, eyebrows raised in surprise and glee. “You want some, Peach? Here you go.” Crowley leaned over the bunk dangerously far, swinging the bottle in Zira’s face. Zira took it and looked at it. It was cheap vodka and the bottle was three quarters empty. Zira gave it a sniff. It smelled like Drain-o.

“Come on! Give it a try.”

Zira took a tiny sip. It burned immediately. She spit it out, sputtering. “Jesus Christ, Crowley! This stuff will disintegrate your flesh from the inside out!” Was it even vodka? It tasted like moonshine someone had made in their basement. 

Zira searched the room for a sink and saw a tiny grime covered one in the corner. She went to it and dumped the remainder of the bottle down the sink. 

“Hey!” Crowley called. “That wuz _not_ cash money of you!” Zira ignored her and threw the empty bottle in a trashcan. She went back to Crowley and climbed halfway up the ladder to the top bunk Crowley was on. Finding Crowley’s backpack, she grabbed it and slung it over her own shoulders. 

“Thas all m’stuff!” Crowley said in distress.

“Good. Now come down from that bed,” Zira said, reaching a hand for Crowley. “I’m taking you home with me.”

“Bud I already payed fer th’night,” she slurred.

“I will pay you back. Come on.”

Crowley looked at Zira hesitantly, but then she took Zira’s hand. As Zira helped her down the bunk, she said, “Y’know he ssaid my art wazz crap? Ssaid a fourth grader cud do better.”

“Quite the charmer,” Zira said, supporting Crowley as she made it to the floor. 

“I have uh art dergree!”

“Yes, you do. Very impressive.” 

Crowley put her hands in Zira’s hair, petting her and playing with the strands. “You-er rily pretty, you know that?”

“And you are really drunk. Let’s go.”

Someone wolf whistled to Zira’s left and she saw a man in a dirty wife beater and sweatpants lounging in a bottom bunk and winking. “Sir, you are barkin’ up the wrong tree,” Zira scolded the man. She did not have the energy or patience to deal with the likes of him. She turned back to Crowley, trying to half carry her out of the room. 

“Hey! Zats my friend o’r there.” Crowley pointed a finger at the wolf whistler. “Rickyyyyyy!”

“Uh huh. Very nice.” 

Thanks to the power of God and all His angels, Zira somehow managed to get Crowley out of the hostel and onto the street. Supporting Crowley with one arm, she slipped her phone out of her purse and called an Uber.

“Okay, Sweet Pea,” Zira said to Crowley gently, smoothing a hand on Crowley’s side where she was hanging on to her. “We just have to wait a little and then we’ll be in a car, okay?”

Crowley started laughing weirdly again. “Sweet pea!” she shrieked. “It’s like the place! It has peas!” She pointed at the hostel sign and Zira saw that it indeed was called ‘Sweet Peas Hostel’. She didn’t say anything.

When the car arrived, Zira apologized to the driver. “My friend is not usually like this. She is having a hard day.” The Uber driver didn’t seem to care much one way or another. Zira gave him a big tip anyways.

It was a chore getting Crowley up three flights of stairs and unlocking the door to the apartment, but when she did, Crowley stumbled in on her own. Apparently regaining her ability to support herself, Crowley rushed for the bathroom. Good thing she still knew where it was after all this time. 

As Zira closed the apartment door behind her, she heard retching from the bathroom. Zira found a washcloth from her linen closet in the hall and went to the bathroom with it. She ran the cloth under hot water at the sink as she watched Crowley bent over the toilet, dry heaving, red curls sticking out wildly around her. Zira got to her knees next to Crowley and rubbed Crowley’s back lightly, holding the washcloth in her other hand. When Crowley looked up at her, her eyes looked sad and pleading, like she might start crying at any moment. Zira gently dabbed her face with the washcloth. “Shh, shh, shh,” she said. “It’s alright.”

Zira helped a compliant Crowley to her own bed and tucked her in. As Zira brushed Crowley’s hair out of her face, her eyes fluttered sleepily. “Thank you, Zira.”

“Of course, Sweet Pea,” Zira said, giving Crowley a kiss on the forehead. “I’m just glad I found you,” she said, more to herself than to Crowley.

“Your hair smells like strawberries,” Crowley said, eyes already closed in sleep. 

“Yes, that’s my shampoo.”

“You should smell like peaches,” she murmured. 

Zira chuckled softly.

“And you should smell like apples.”

Crowley wrinkled her eyebrows. “Apples?”

“I associate you with apples. I don’t know why.”

“Mmm,” Crowley said, rolling over and slinging an arm over her head. “I like apples.”

* * *

Footnotes:

1. Biltmore Village: the wealthy part of town, near the Historic Biltmore Estate in Asheville, NC

2. Muscadine wine: a sweet wine popular in the Southeastern United States, made from muscadine grapes, which are native to the region

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have anything against hipsters or hostels. I do have something against Che Guevara.
> 
> (But actually, I've never been inside Sweet Peas Hostel, I'm sure it is very nice!)
> 
> Chapter Song: Wild Love, by Ashley Monroe


	11. Friends Don't

**July 2018**

Crowley lived with Zira in her apartment for a year after Zira picked her up from the hostel. It was a one bedroom apartment, but Zira had a Queen sized bed, so it wasn’t a problem. Zira never charged Crowley rent. Zira’s parents were still giving her a fairly strong safety net, anyways.

It took a while for Crowley to get back on her feet, but she started making art again. She pushed Zira to work on the novel she’d always said she would write, but Zira kept struggling with the story and she never felt like anything she wrote was good enough. It was easier to fall into the safety of her mundane job. 

Zira encouraged Crowley, though. She wanted Crowley to keep trying to sell art or get freelance work and to never give up on her dreams. Living with Zira took a lot of the risk away and Zira was happy to provide that kind of safety.

Zira wanted what was best for Crowley because she loved her like a sister. Not a sorority sister, a real sister. Crowley was the Bosom Friend Zira had always wanted, the absolute best friend she could ask for. 

And that’s what they were. Friends. 

Even if Zira hoped and dreamed it could be more, she knew it couldn’t. 

Even if at night, as they lay side by side, she longed to reach out and touch, to hold Crowley in a way that was certainly more than friendly, she wouldn’t.

Even if she still dreamt about gasping breaths and hot mouths, she knew it had to stay exactly that: a dream. A fantasy.

(There was a reason, there was a  _ reason _ .)

So they were friends. 

They watched movies together and teased each other and gossiped about their old college friends. They shared meals and a bed and laughter and life was  _ good _ and  _ warm _ . 

They shared all their secrets. They knew each other’s deepest fears and deepest desires. They shared  _ everything _ .

Well. Not…  _ everything _ .

Some things remained unsaid. They had to. They had to, they had to.

They were friends.

They were  _ good  _ friends. Good at being friends. Supportive, strong.

They sat with each other in the best of times and in the worst of times. 

But some things remained unsaid. And Zira wondered what Crowley wasn’t saying.

One day, Crowley found out Bee Avila was in a relationship and Zira thought she would break down, but she didn’t. The way she told Zira was like it didn’t affect her at all. 

They had only been living together for about three months then.

“Remember Gabriella, who used to be Phi Mu President?” she had said, lounging on the couch flipping through streaming options. Zira didn’t think anything of it at first. She was preoccupied with cooking dinner. 

“Yes. What about her?” Zira asked absently.

“Well, first of all, he goes by Gabriel now.”

Zira paused from preparing vegetables and looked at Crowley. Crowley had abandoned the remote and sat up, apparently interested in Zira’s reaction. She gave the news about a millisecond of thought and then said to Crowley, with a mild tone of surprise, “Good for him.” Zira had never been particularly close to Gabriella, sorry, Gabriel, so it wasn’t all that impactful, really, but it did make her think about how little you can truly know about a person. 

Maybe there would have been a time when she would have been shocked, confused even, but having been friends with Crowley for as long as she had, and growing up and living out in the world- somewhere along the way, she discovered some things weren’t worth being shocked over. She’d come a long way, probably, when it came to this kind of thing. Lots to unlearn, lots to unpack. But she was doing it, and it was thanks to Crowley, really. 

Crowley, her best friend. Her best friend, who was crass and crude, but who had taught Zira more about compassion than anyone else. Her best friend whose eyes were filled to the brim with excitement, like she had the juiciest gossip in the world that she couldn’t wait to spill.

“Well, you will never guess who Gabriel is dating,” Crowley said, when Zira raised an eyebrow in mild interest.

Zira had no idea, but the way Crowley said it made her think it must have been someone they both knew. She was clearly dying to talk about it.

“Who did Gabriel hate more than anyone?” Crowley prompted.

“I don’t know. I didn’t know him that well. Were there people he hated?”

“Come on, everyone knew this. You are telling me you roomed with Mikayla for two years and you never heard this?”

Mikayla. What had Mikayla said? Zira vaguely remembered a conversation about the newly elected Phi Mu President and Vice President. 

Zira’s eyes widened in shock when the realization hit her. “No,” she said. “Not  _ Bee Avila.” _

“The very same,” Crowley said with a cocky grin, like she had just correctly named the actor starring in an old movie rather than revealed that her ex from her serious long term college relationship was dating someone else. 

Zira abandoned the vegetables and joined Crowley on the couch. “Oh  _ Crowley,”  _ she said. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said with an unaffected shrug. “Why wouldn’t I be alright?” Crowley asked calmly, as if Zira was making something out of nothing.

“Because of you and Bee.”

“That’s ancient history.”

Zira studied her- her body language, her face. Searched for the traces of hurt, the hidden pain. But she couldn’t see it. 

Zira didn’t believe it. How could Crowley have been so calm about this news? 

But she was. That was the last Zira ever heard of it. If Crowley ever cried, Zira never saw it.

There was one time that Van Dan came up in conversation. One time in the  _ year _ Crowley lived with Zira.

It was winter and Zira loved winter in Asheville. Winter wasn’t much of anything in Macon, but in Asheville, Zira could get bundled up in her boots and scarves and she and Crowley could walk through the mountain streets in the cool night air and enjoy the occasional snow flurry. Zira had spent several winters in Asheville, of course, but she hadn’t had Crowley’s company the way she’d had it this year.

On Tuesdays, the Fine Arts Theater downtown had $5 movie nights and Zira and Crowley liked to go. The theater only ever had two movies showing because there were only two movie screens and they were always indie films neither of them had ever heard of. It was sort of a Russian Roulette. Sometimes, they were really good, moving or funny or adventurous movies that they never would have seen otherwise. Sometimes, they were two hours of the strangest, most incomprehensible film imaginable. In those cases, it was even more fun, in a way.

Zira particularly liked to go to her favorite dessert restaurant afterwards. The French Broad Chocolate Lounge served only dessert and it was mostly chocolate and Zira was making her way through the menu. There were brownies and mousses and cakes and she wanted to try  _ all  _ of them. Zira would make a pig of herself while Crowley lounged across from her, barely picking at something or other, drinking kombucha and watching Zira with a twinkle in her eye that Zira tried not to notice. 

She probably couldn’t help but be amused at how ridiculous Zira was when it came to her desserts. Zira knew she always looked a complete mess, with chocolate dripping down her fingers. She was sure she looked incredibly unattractive in those moments, and she knew if her momma had been there, she would probably have told her she was being unlady like or that she should watch her portions. 

But it was  _ Crowley _ , so she wasn’t ashamed. And she didn’t want to look attractive, anyways. There was the  _ reason.  _ And even if there wasn’t, Crowley wouldn’t see her that way, she couldn’t see her that way. Based on Crowley’s history, Zira didn’t think she was exactly Crowley’s type. So, really, all of the internal angst was a waste of time, anyways.

It wasn’t at the French Broad Chocolate Lounge that Van Dan came up in conversation. It was as they were walking through the street, on their way there from a very strange movie about a middle aged artist having some kind of existential crisis. At least that was what Zira thought it was about. There was clearly supposed to be a lot of symbolism and some deep meaning. Zira had thought maybe Crowley had understood it, being an artist and all, but then when they got out of the theater, she just said, “Well that was a thing,” and Zira started giggling.

It was a beautiful moonlit night and it had started snowing while they were in the theater. It was one of those rare snows where the snow actually stuck, so it was accumulating and there was a pleasant crunch under the heels of Zira’s tall brown boots as they made their way along the sidewalk. There were the hazy blue ridges, too, surrounding the city, towering above them, protecting their sweet valley, and there was something so perfect about that.

They were walking through the blue and white night and they were holding hands, because they held hands sometimes. It didn’t mean anything, it never meant anything. They had been holding hands for as long as Zira could remember. It was that womanly intimacy that sometimes happened between friends. And it was  _ nice _ .

“I will never get over snow in the mountains,” Zira said. “No matter how long I live here. It’s just so  _ beautiful.” _

“Yeah,” Crowley said, in that sort of disinterested way.

“I never really had snow growing up. Just when we came up here or to Boone for ski trips.”

Crowley cracked a smile then. “I’d love to see you skiing,” she said.

“Oh, I am very bad.”

“All the more reason to want to see it.”

Zira rolled her eyes. “I doubt you would be any better. Or, well, have you ever skied?”

“When would I have skied?”

“I don’t know. Maybe when you were in New England or something.” 

Zira regretted saying it instantly. Because as far as Zira knew, there was only one circumstance under which Crowley had ever been to New England and they never talked about it. Zira shouldn’t have even  _ known _ Crowley had ever been to New England, except that she had kept tabs on her through social media like a lunatic.

A darkness came over Crowley’s face and she simply said, “Dan wasn’t a skier.” 

And that was it. Nothing else. Crowley didn’t say another word about it.

Zira looked away at the mountains, suddenly feeling the heaviness of Crowley’s gloved hand in hers. Zira felt a lump in her throat as she tried to move past the tension.

“The negative side is the driving, of course. I mean, the negative side of snow.”

“I’ll drive,” Crowley said. Crowley didn’t have a car, but Zira did. It was a sweet little bug that Zira’s parents bought her and that she strictly used to drive to and from work because she hated driving. Crowley probably used the car more than her. But they pretended that wasn’t the case and Zira would drive them to these little outings, since it wasn’t too far.

_ "Would you?”  _ Zira asked, turning to Crowley with hope filled eyes, as if it wasn’t a given that Crowley would drive if there was ever any amount of inclement weather.

“I don’t want to die, do I?”

Zira made a show of being offended and lightly hit Crowley’s arm, but, besides being thankful that she didn’t have to pretend like she was comfortable driving in the snow, she was relieved she had successfully navigated away from the subject of Van Dan.

At the French Broad Chocolate Lounge that night, Zira had the pot de creme and a dark drinking chocolate and two truffles and Crowley had the ginger kombucha and a single coconut macaroon.

They never talked about Dan again. And Crowley seemed  _ fine. _

In stark contrast was the way Zira reacted to news about her not-even-actually-an-ex, Will (Not-Turner) O’Neill, a full year after Crowley had moved in.

It was the day that it all fell apart.

It was a Saturday, and Zira was alone in the apartment, scrolling on social media at the dining table. She had been intending to work on her writing, but as it often went, she had become distracted. 

All of the sudden, there was the picture on her feed. 

There was Will O’Neill, smiling brightly and wearing a bow tie in a picture with that girl, the one that looked like Zira, the one that he had ostensibly rejected Zira for, wearing a white dress. 

Zira thought that she was fine seeing it. She shouldn’t have been surprised that they were still together. She shouldn’t have been surprised that they had gotten married. 

It had been years, and Zira had hardly spared a moment’s thought for Will (Not-Turner) O’Neill. That must have meant she was over it, she thought.

They had posted a wedding video, because it seemed as though everyone did these days. Zira was drawn to it. She couldn’t stop herself from watching it. 

She watched it over and over again. 

She imagined herself in that wedding dress. She cursed the girl that looked like her. She imagined what it would have been like if it had been  _ her _ wedding. 

_ Her  _ day.  _ Her _ husband.  _ Her  _ love story.

But she didn’t have a love story.

She didn’t have Will O’Neill or anyone, for that matter.

When Crowley returned home from doing some errand, she found Zira in a heap over her laptop, sobbing over Will O’Neill’s wedding video.

Crowley rushed to Zira’s side, demanding to know what was wrong. Zira couldn’t explain it. She just showed Crowley her laptop and Will O’Neill’s posted wedding photos, tears still streaming.

Crowley hugged her and rubbed her back and comforted her. Crowley closed Zira’s computer and brought Zira to the couch so she could hold her while Zira sobbed into her shoulder. It took forty five minutes for Zira to collect herself.

“I’m sorry,” Zira said through sniffles, wiping her eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t even care about him.”

“It’s okay to feel hurt,” Crowley said. 

It was a surprising thing, coming from Crowley. Zira didn’t think Crowley ever let herself feel hurt. The only time she had seen her fall to pieces had been that day Zira took her home from the hostel, and even then she hadn’t cried. 

But Crowley had had many loves. She found love easily. It wasn’t such a reach, for  _ her _ . She was lovable.

Zira felt a sort of sad and desperate realization come over her, one that felt a long time coming, like watching a ship come into dock after hours of seeing it descend from the horizon. 

(It was the day that it all fell apart.)

“No one is ever going to love me,” Zira said. Her voice felt hollow, and the truth that she spoke felt so immovable that she couldn’t even feel sad about it. Her heart was just an empty shell.

“Now I  _ know  _ you know that’s not true,” Crowley said sharply. 

Crowley’s sharpness startled Zira. Shocked her out of her pool of self-pity, brought her to the surface, pulled her out of the waters in which she would surely drown. But Zira wasn’t gasping for air. She was breathing smoothly, calmly, like she had never been drowning to begin with, like she had woken up from a dream.

Zira looked blearily at Crowley, who was still at her side on the couch, and who still had her arms wrapped around her shoulders. She was staring at Zira fiercely, piercing Zira with her gold flecked hazel eyes. She had eyebrows scrunched in a look of determined anger, daring Zira to contradict her.

Zira looked at Crowley hard for the first time in a long time. 

Crowley, with her freckle-dotted face and her countless piercings, covering her ear, above her lip, on her nose. Her dark eyeliner that she still wore frequently, her unpainted lips. Her wild, red, curly hair that was longer now than Zira had ever known it to be.

Crowley, who had lived with Zira and shared Zira’s bed for a year. Crowley, who had known Zira and been her friend for  _ eight _ years. Crowley, who knew the very shape of Zira’s soul.

Crowley should have smelled like apples because when Zira dreamed of apples, she was really dreaming of Crowley.

Crowley’s mouth still haunted Zira’s dreams, even as she slept at her side, inches away and yet forbidden from touching. 

It was her own self that forbade it. Nothing else. Her own obsession with how she thought her life should be. 

At this moment, with nothing to feel but despair, all of that felt insignificant, meaningless.

What Zira did next felt natural, if only because she had done it so many times late at night in the confines of her mind. They were so close, it wasn’t hard to lean in. It wasn’t hard to press her lips against Crowley’s to get her first taste.

What would Crowley do? Would she respond? Would she want it, too? Was she consumed by the same desire Zira was?

Crowley made a sound of surprise, but then she was moving her lips with Zira’s. And it was the most glorious feeling, the feel of their lips moving together, slow as molasses, and just as sweet. 

Was it real, or was she still dreaming? 

She couldn’t have been dreaming, her face was still sticky with tears, her body still weak from sobbing. 

But she could feel herself strengthening, with every movement, every curve of Crowley’s lips, every gentle nip. 

Crowley’s kiss was nourishing, like a rain at the end of a long, dry summer. Zira hadn’t known until this kiss just how badly her crops needed the rain, just how badly she had been dying of thirst. 

It was the day that it all fell apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: Friends Don't by Maddie & Tae
> 
> The French Broad Chocolate Lounge is where it's _at_ (except when my partner, let's call him Jam Man, inexplicably wants to share a coconut macaroon with me, who likes those???). My birthday is Wednesday and Jam Man and I are going to stream the new adaptation of _Emma_ , which I love, if this fic didn't make that obvious. Will report back.


	12. I'm Good at Leavin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The new adaptation of Emma was amazing, thank you for asking!!
> 
> Apologies for updating a few hours later than usual (after that cliff hanger, too!!)- I would blame it on the fact that my Zoom Commencement was today, but I slept through it... so, I don't really have an excuse! (It's okay, there is going to be a real graduation eventually, and I didn't miss my program area zoom thing, which was yesterday.)
> 
> CW: smut (oh, come on, y’all knew exactly where this was going.)

Where were we? Let’s set the stage.

Zira had spent the bulk of a Saturday afternoon in July having a meltdown. A meltdown that had been prompted by certain wedding photos and a certain video posted by Zira’s not-even-an-ex, Will (not-Turner) O’Neill.

Zira’s best friend of eight years and roommate of one year was comforting her. Zira’s best friend of eight years and roommate of one year was _kissing_ her.

Well. To be fair. Zira started it.

But Crowley sure was responding.

Zira felt Crowley’s hands on her face and the kisses became desperate and passionate. She realized belatedly how crazy what she was doing was, but she couldn’t focus more than a moment’s thought on it because the feel of Crowley’s lips was so much better than she had ever imagined.

And Crowley was kissing her. 

And Crowley was loving her.

And Crowley was every single thing that Zira had ever wanted and more.

Zira had the sudden urge to touch Crowley as much as she could. She fumbled blindly for Crowley’s waist and tried to pull her towards herself. Crowley didn’t hesitate, swinging onto Zira’s lap. 

Feeling Crowley’s weight on her made Zira feel… incredibly turned on. The feel of her bare thighs pressing against the fabric of Zira’s dress, the roughness of her jean shorts sliding against her with every minute movement or shift. 

Zira felt her heartbeat picking up and her body growing hot. She felt her hands moving under Crowley’s soft shirt and up her back as if by their own volition. 

Crowley’s back was smooth and warm. Zira’s fingers passed over the rough, lacy fabric of what must have been a bralette because there was no hook to speak of. 

_God,_ she wanted to see that bralette.

Zira broke her mouth away and Crowley froze. Zira looked up at her. Crowley was breathing heavily and her eyes were wide. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

What Zira wanted more than anything was to tear Crowley’s shirt off, but she realized she wasn’t sure how Crowley felt about all this and she looked terrified. Before Zira could ask Crowley what was on her mind, she spoke.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said in a rush. “I didn’t mean to…”

“You didn’t mean to what?” Zira asked calmly. “I’m the one that kissed you,” she said.

“Yeah, but I mean. You couldn’t possibly want…”

“I do,” Zira breathed, closing her eyes to try to control the waves of desire rushing through her. “I want.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “But if you don’t-“

“I do,” Crowley said quickly, cutting Zira off.

Zira opened her eyes and looked at Crowley, feeling happiness and relief wash over her. It was happening, and it was real, and Crowley _wanted_ her. “Crowley?” she asked, feeling a smile forming on her face. “May I remove your shirt?”

“You can have whatever you want,” Crowley said, her voice breathy and needy and desperate. The strength of her statement shocked Zira, and the desperation in her voice- Zira had _never_ heard it before. It was too much to process, it didn’t compute. 

But, again, Zira’s body moved without her direction. Logical thought was overridden by the hunger in her chest, the starving want. She found herself pulling the shirt off and tossing it aside. 

The bralette was a black sweetheart and Zira didn’t think she had ever seen anything that looked so scrumptious. She ran her thumb over a scalloped edge that lay across the top of one of Crowley’s breasts. Crowley’s breast felt soft and supple and Zira was pummeled by the sudden urge to put it in her mouth. 

Zira tried to push down the bralette edge that her thumb was resting on, but it didn’t budge. Crowley responded, sliding down her own straps and letting the fabric flip forward, revealing both of her breasts. She kept her arms at her side, though. She was relatively passive, seemingly waiting for Zira to take the lead. She was still breathing heavily, her eyes were still wide.

Zira didn’t have any idea what she was doing, but her body seemed to know what it wanted, so she let her instincts take over. She pressed her hands against Crowley’s back and leaned forward, taking a breast into her mouth, sucking gently. 

She hadn’t known it would feel so satisfying to have a breast in her mouth. She mentally catalogued the feeling of soft flesh against her lips and the slightly hardened nipple against her tongue. The soft cushion of it, filling her mouth, like it was supposed to be there. She wanted to taste and feel every inch of it.

She felt Crowley’s hands glide into her hair, grasping at her scalp. Crowley made a delicious, needy sound and the fabric separating Zira’s body from Crowley’s skin became too much. She pulled her mouth away to focus on fumbling with the buttons of her dress. 

It was summer and she was wearing one of those dresses that buttoned all the way down the front and had a little cloth belt that tied into a bow. She unbuttoned the dress just enough to push the sleeves off of her shoulders, shimmying out of them so that the dress hung off of her at her waist.

She looked up at Crowley, hoping to get a read on whether she was still feeling okay with this. Crowley was captivated by Zira’s bra. Zira knew it was a boring one: nude with a bunch of underwiring, but Crowley was looking at her like she was the most beautiful and shocking thing she had ever seen.

“Do you want to move to the bed?” Zira asked. 

Crowley nodded and they stumbled together to the bedroom, closing the door behind them. Crowley surprised Zira by pinning her against the door with her body, hands reaching into her hair, cradling her head and kissing her with firm, open mouth kisses that made Zira lighted-headed. She kept kissing Zira as her hands moved to the bow around Zira’s waist, untying it and letting the rest of the dress fall. 

Fu- fu- _fudgsicles_. Zira’s whole body felt electrified.

Crowley pulled Zira forward, just enough to pull her back away from the door, and found the back of her bra, unclipping it easily.

Pulling the bra off, Crowley stepped back to look at Zira. 

Zira wanted to cover herself up again. She didn’t like her body being on display. 

But Crowley was looking at her hungrily and then she was pulling her towards the bed. 

Crowley sat herself down on the edge of the bed, throwing off the bralette that was still dangling around her midriff, and pulling Zira close.

Everywhere Crowley touched felt on fire. Crowley pressed herself against Zira, wrapping her legs around her, kissing her neck, and Zira couldn’t get enough of the feel of their skin touching and the tingles of pleasure Crowley’s mouth was shooting through her.

Zira felt _alive_ and _wanted,_ and _oh sugar, why was Crowley so good at this?_

Zira nearly stopped breathing when she felt Crowley’s mouth, warm and wet, on her nipple. Her tongue danced around Zira’s areola, leaving it sensitive and sending blood down to Zira’s clitoris, before she moved to the other nipple to give it similar treatment. 

Zira could have let Crowley touch her for hours, but she felt like if she didn’t keep moving, she would lose her nerve. She hadn’t been planning this; it had all come about so suddenly. But now that it was happening, she wanted to see Crowley _writhe_.

She pushed Crowley onto the bed and kissed a line down Crowley’s torso before unbuttoning her denim shorts and quickly removing them. Crowley remained where she was, legs hanging off of the bed, as Zira got to her knees on the carpet between Crowley’s legs, stroking Crowley’s thighs with her thumbs. 

Steeling herself, Zira inched her hands up Crowley’s thighs until her thumbs hooked around the sides of Crowley’s panties. 

Zira remembered how Crowley had done it, back then. “May I?” she asked.

“Yesss,” Crowley practically hissed.

Zira tugged on the panties, peeling away the wet fabric. She tossed aside the soiled undies and they landed in a tangled heap across the floor. Zira didn’t pay any mind to where they went; her focus was on what they had been hiding. Entirely new curls, soft and sweet, and what they guarded- _oh Lordy._ How was Zira’s heart beating so fast?

“I’m ready,” Crowley said, her body visibly trembling. “God, _fuck_ , I am so ready.”

“I’ve never done this before,” Zira said, suddenly self conscious. Suddenly remembering how ridiculous this was.

Crowley let out an amused sound. “I know.” 

Zira eyed Crowley’s nether regions nervously.

“You don’t have to do this, Zira,” Crowley said. But she sounded broken.

“I want to,” Zira insisted. “I just- I want to do a good job.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Crowley said quickly. “Just do what you think _you_ would like. Anything you do, I promise… Just- for fuck’s sake,” she said, her voice breathy and needy and desperate. Zira had never heard that desperation in her voice before. “I’ll tell you if I want you to do something different,” she continued, practically begging.

Zira nodded, though Crowley couldn’t see her. She leaned against the end of the bed for support as she tentatively pushed her head between Crowley’s thighs and reached Crowley’s labia with her tongue. 

Crowley was plenty wet. Her cum tasted a little sour, but Zira ignored the oddness of the taste, delicately exploring all of the soft, fleshy bits of Crowley’s vulva until she felt a bit more comfortable.

She wasn’t sure how to move her tongue, but she tried her best to mimic what Crowley had done for her, all those years ago. It seemed to be the right thing, because Crowley’s entire body responded.

It was intoxicating, making Crowley tremble and writhe. She made small high pitched sounds of pleasure that made Zira’s own vulva pulse. _God_ , it felt good, it felt _so good_ to do this to Crowley.

Zira could tell when Crowley was approaching orgasm because she arched and tensed her body, her movement stopping as she reached for the precipice. Zira knew, because she knew how her own body responded when she was approaching orgasm. 

Zira knew what she would want and she maintained a steady rhythm with her tongue, focusing on Crowley’s body cues. With a small gasp, Crowley released her body and sunk into the mattress, chest heaving. 

Zira pulled back, wiping off her lips, uncertain of what to do next, but also aware of the pulsing, pulsing, _pulsing_. She wasn’t sure she had ever felt quite so aroused. 

Crowley scooted backward to lay on the bed fully, her head on one of the pillows.

“I want you to sit on my face _now_ ,” Crowley demanded before she had even caught her breath.

“What?” Zira asked, standing and feeling sheepish.

“Panties off. I want your cunt on my mouth _right fucking now_.”

Zira did as Crowley asked, scooting off her panties. But beyond that, she didn’t understand what Crowley was asking her to do. “I- I’m not sure-“

“Straddle my face and hold onto the headboard,” she demanded.

Zira walked to the end of the bed where Crowley’s head was and climbed up. She carefully placed herself over Crowley’s face, standing on her knees and trying not to actually put any weight on Crowley. She held onto the headboard, just as Crowley said. She didn’t know what to expect, and she felt unreasonably nervous, but her clitoris was throbbing in anticipation. She lowered herself slowly until she could feel Crowley’s warm breath, the curve of her lips just touching her soft, tender bits. 

Crowley sprung into action and Zira was thankful she had the headboard to hold onto because that wicked tongue immediately sent spikes of pleasure up her body that had her shuddering. 

The feeling of Crowley’s tongue and mouth and the pleasure they produced were even better than Zira remembered. She heard herself making sounds as she gripped tightly to the headboard to keep herself upright. 

She knew whatever she had just done for Crowley couldn’t hold a candle to this. It was intense and it was almost too much. Almost.

She felt her own orgasm building as Crowley’s hands roamed over her skin and her body convulsed. She was moaning and she could feel the pleasure stacking and stretching, reaching its long, spindly fingers up into her body. She knew how to ride it out, how to get to the prize. 

She held her mouth wide open as she stopped being able to produce sound, the pleasure becoming so, so, _so_ intense. Holding her body stiff, even as she felt herself shivering, and gripping onto the headboard with all the strength she had, she felt the best orgasm she had experienced in a while, maybe ever, ripple through her body. 

She let out a series of shuddering breaths, letting the high wash over her as it reverberated through her and she came down from it.

As soon as the final waves of orgasm finished pulsing through her, that feeling of satisfaction and euphoria claiming her, she became aware of her position, aware of Crowley continuing to kiss her gently down there, and immediately felt awkward and strange. She carefully removed herself from Crowley’s face, and scooted down the bed to lay down, legs crossed. She still felt euphoric, but there was a competing feeling of timidness and general discomfort nagging at her. “Um,” she said, unsure of what to say in this situation. “Thank you.”

Crowley started laughing. She started _laughing_. “You’re welcome,” she said through her laughter. 

The laughter broke the tension and Zira felt better. It was Crowley. No one knew her better. She didn’t have to feel ashamed or embarrassed. Letting go of those feelings left only the euphoria, and Zira smiled at Crowley, allowing the pure bliss and relief to fill her body from head to toe.

Crowley had turned to her side, licking her lips. She wiped away a bit of cum from her chin and Zira felt a twinge of embarrassment again. 

But then Crowley was gazing at Zira with hooded eyes, looking moonstricken. 

“That was nice,” she said, biting her lip in a way that told Zira she was very pleased. It was odd seeing Crowley look at her like that.

Zira looked away, unable to process it. “Did I do a good job?” Zira asked shyly.

“You will get better with practice,” Crowley teased. 

Zira naturally fell into responding like it was everyday banter, like the thing that they had just done wasn’t world changing, hadn’t just pushed the earth off its axis. “You seemed happy enough to _me_ ,” Zira challenged.

Crowley scooted towards Zira, snuggling up to her side and pressing light kisses to her shoulder. “It was very good for a first time,” she assured her between kisses, her voice silky smooth.

Zira turned her face to Crowley with a small smile and Crowley leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. The kiss was soft and sweet and Zira could taste her own cum in Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley pulled away and set her head down on Zira’s shoulder, closing her eyes like she just wanted to lay and cuddle. Her hair tickled Zira’s neck and chin as she let out a content sigh. “You’re right,” she said. “I am very happy.”

Zira felt a cold needle of fear shoot down her spine as the reality of their situation drove its way into the forefront of her mind. There was a _reason._ There was a _reason_ this was meant to be relegated to her dreams. “I didn’t know this was something you wanted so much,” she said.

“I love you, Zira,” Crowley said so breathlessly and so totally sincerely, it made Zira’s heart hurt. “I’ve always loved you.” 

Zira felt her stomach flip, the high of the afterglow vanishing. She hadn’t thought this through, and that had been very wrong. Because as much as she wanted it, _this,_ as much as she wanted Crowley’s love, she knew it wasn’t in the cards. She hadn’t expected Crowley to actually love her. She had been thoughtless and selfish. “Crowley...” she tried.

“Do you remember when you said you wanted a man to love you like Harry loves Sally?” Crowley murmured dreamily into Zira’s chest. “Well _I_ do. I mean, I love you ten times more than Harry loves Sally. I think about you all the time. I want to be with you.” She finished her speech with a kiss to Zira’s chest and Zira felt the world falling out from under her. She thought she was going to be sick.

“Crowley, I…”

Crowley must have sensed Zira’s change in demeanor because she propped her head up and looked at Zira with suspicion, a frown, and furrowed brows.

“Don’t tell me you are straight, because you wouldn’t have done what we just did if you were,” she said sharply.

“No. You are right,” Zira admitted. “I’m not straight.” Zira closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was painful and she felt like a complete bozo for thinking for even a second that doing this with Crowley would be a good idea. She had let her insecurity coupled with the strength of her desire get the better of her and now she would have to pay the price.

She steeled herself to say the thing she had never said out loud. It was something she had known about herself for a while, but knowing it was something else altogether from saying the words. She also knew it was the thing that would make all of this harder. 

“I’m bi,” she said.

Crowley didn’t seem particularly struck by the weight of what Zira had just said. Instead, Crowley just demanded, “Do you love me back?” 

Zira’s heart felt like it was tearing in two as she opened her eyes to look at Crowley.

“Crowley. It’s not that simple,” Zira said, feeling tears forming in her eyes. Why couldn’t have Crowley just let them have this? This one night? Why did Zira have to start all this in the first place and make such a mess of things? “The thing about me being bi is-“ Zira’s lip trembled before she kept going. “I have a choice to make. I can choose to love a man and I can marry him and I can be satisfied. I can have babies and do everything everyone expects me to do.”

“So you love me but you won’t be with me.”

“I just. Crowley, you have to understand,” Zira pleaded. It was the reason she had never wanted to admit her feelings, the reason she had suppressed them for so long. The reason she had forbidden herself from touching. “I don’t have to cause a rift with my family or alienate myself from my community. I am from the _heart_ of the Bible Belt, Crowley. But I can live my life and nobody ever has to know.”

“I will know.”

Zira sighed. “Yes.”

There was a moment of somber silence before Crowley broke it.

“I don’t believe this,” Crowley spit, pushing herself out of bed angrily and plucking up clothes around the room to put on haphazardly.

“Crowley!” Zira tried desperately, sitting up and pressing her knees to her chest, feeling very naked and cold.

Crowley turned to Zira with blades in her eyes.

“No. I can’t take any more of this bullshit,” she said angrily. “Do you realize how long I have been trailing after you like a puppy dog?” Her face cracked and Zira saw tears forming in her eyes. “And all of that time, I thought I was such a moron because I thought you couldn’t love me the way I wanted you to. But this?”

Crowley fished her backpack out of the closet and started carelessly stuffing clothes into it. 

“Crowley! What are you doing?” Zira asked in alarm.

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t stay here.”

“What are you talking about?”

Crowley stopped and stood, looking at Zira, tears fully streaming. Zira didn’t think she had ever seen Crowley cry like that. “I can’t keep doing this,” she said, her voice breaking. She pointed to the bed. “I can’t keep sleeping next to you in that bed knowing that all of this could be real and it’s not.”

Zira felt herself crying. She knew Crowley was right, but she didn’t want her to go. She wanted it to be real, too.

“Look,” Crowley said, collecting herself a bit and wiping the tears from her eyes. “I want to be here for you. And I want to take care of you. But I have to think of me, too.”

Zira knew Crowley was right. She felt like a bullet had shot clean through her heart, like she was one of the deer or wild turkeys her uncles and her daddy liked to hunt, but she knew Crowley was right.

It was the last thing Crowley said before she went out the door.

Zira let her go. There wasn’t anything else she could do. She let her go and she curled into a ball, trying to pry out the pieces of shrapnel the bullet left behind in her heart. She cried the whole night.

It was the night that it all fell apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I know!!! Please forgive me! Would some fluff soothe your souls? If so, I first want to recommend this lovely university wives ficlet featuring painter Crowley written by my friend @miss-minnelli, which I am in love with and which you should all read: [Still Your Heart Was True](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989666). I also have a little fluffy wives ficlet featuring painting and Auntie Crowley, which you could also check out: [Oil Paint Stains](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989363).
> 
> This chapter's song: I'm Good at Leavin', by Ashley Monroe


	13. Stupid Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: references to parental drug abuse and unstable home life

**October 2018**

The apartment felt empty without Crowley. 

Zira missed the weight of another person lying next to her in bed at night. She missed having someone to eat dinner with and watch movies with and to talk to about their days with. She missed the feeling of total comfort that she had become accustomed to in Crowley’s company.

Sometimes, she came across an article of clothing. In the laundry or in the corner of the closet. Something too small and too edgy to be Zira’s. She started making a pile. 

Life went on, as it had to. Zira felt herself going through the motions of her life: work, eat, sleep. Another oldies rock band shirt, folded neatly. 

She kept going, but she felt like a robot, living life but not feeling a single thing.

Months passed like that.

In October, Zira stopped wanting to get out of bed. That was when she knew she desperately needed to do something to find joy in her life again.

There was only one way she knew of to find joy. There was only one  _ person _ that she knew how to feel joyful with.

She took a week of vacation from work and, since she was terrified of long distance driving, she bought a Greyhound ticket.

She knew that Crowley was in Wanchese with her uncle. Crowley’s Uncle Shadwell didn’t believe in cell phones, which meant he had a landline that he’d had for decades and he was easy to look up in the White Pages. 

Zira called him ahead of time to let him know she was coming. He was gruff and rude on the phone, but he wasn’t hard to mollify. 

The bus ride was 15 hours and 45 minutes. Zira tried to sleep on the bus, but the ride was uncomfortable and bumpy. She couldn’t read, because she would get nauseous. The bus line advertised WiFi, but it really shouldn’t have. So she had to look out the window, or be alone with her thoughts, and that was a dangerous thing. Zira found the trip long and tiring.

The bus didn’t take Zira to Wanchese. It took her to Elizabeth City, which was the closest Greyhound station to Wanchese at the short driving distance of 1.5 hours. The Uber was exorbitant, but Zira was desperate.

The last stretch of the drive was on the Outer Banks. The Uber driver crossed over to the line of barrier islands at Kitty Hawk and they drove along the ocean in the mid afternoon sun. Zira sat in the front passenger seat and watched as they passed the tourist traps: beach apparel stores, souvenir shops, excursion companies, which were all closed for the season. She noticed how abandoned the streets looked as the smell of salt and seaweed filled her nose.

The ocean went out of view when the driver crossed off of the Outer Banks at Nags Head and went Westward, across the Roanoke Sound.

Zira was exhausted when the Uber pulled up to Crowley’s uncle’s backwater cabin, nestled in a small bit of woods at the edge of Roanoke Island. She immediately noticed the sulfurous smell coming off of the nearby marshland as she stepped out of the Uber with only her purse and a duffle.

The front of the small, run down shack of a cabin was a mess: bits of garbage and rusty pieces of outdoor machinery littering the yard and patio. Zira carefully made her way to the front, checking that she didn’t step on any broken glass from the strewn beer bottles.

Upon entering the cabin, Zira was greeted with a grunt and a few barked commands about where she should put her things. She was told Crowley was out back. 

Zira opened the rickety wooden backdoor and stood in the door frame, watching Crowley before she announced herself. 

The backyard was lovely, with several wooden raised plant beds filled with lush, green plants. Surrounding the plant beds, the yard was unkempt, overgrown with clover and too tall grass and random patches of dandelions and daisies and wildflowers. Crowley was kneeling over one of the plant beds, concentrating with her hands in the dirt, her hair pulled back in a messy poof and sweat visible on her forehead. She was wearing a red and black plaid flannel with her sleeves rolled up and she had a bowl next to her full of lettuce and carrots, which Zira presumed she was currently harvesting. 

The image of her there was completely picturesque and Zira wanted to burn it into her brain. She wanted to be able to catalogue it, file it away so she could bring it out whenever she felt sad or empty. 

After placing some dirt covered carrots into the bowl next to her, Crowley wiped her hands on her flannel and wiped the sweat from her forehead, sweeping a bit of stray hair behind her ear and leaving a smudge of dirt on her face. She looked up towards the house and Zira wasn’t expecting it, wasn’t prepared. 

“Zira?” Crowley said in surprise. “What are you doing here?” Crowley asked. Zira removed herself from the doorframe and approached Crowley carefully.

“I wanted to see you,” Zira said meekly, stopping to stand a few feet away from where Crowley was still kneeling.

“Did my uncle know you were coming?”

“Yes. I wanted it to be a surprise.” It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Or maybe the desperation had been so much that anything would have seemed like a good idea at the time.

Crowley looked back down at the vegetables she was working with. “You shouldn’t have come,” she said sourly.

Crowley didn’t look up as Zira closed the distance and kneeled next to her.

“Crowley. Please,” Zira pleaded, reaching her hand out but letting it hover over Crowley’s arm, not sure if she should touch her. Crowley picked up the bowl of vegetables and stood, walking back towards the cabin.  _ "Crowley!" _ Zira called. “I came all this way!” she said, feeling her heart breaking all over again.

Crowley stopped and turned back to Zira. “I didn’t ask you to come,” she said sharply. Then she turned her back on Zira and walked inside.

Zira was left sitting in the grass and weeds wondering what she had been thinking. What had she thought would happen? That Crowley would welcome her with open arms? That things could go back to the way they were?

She couldn’t regret coming. She may have felt like her heart was bleeding, but at least she felt  _ something. _

Zira wasn’t sure how long she sat outside feeling defeated and pitiful. She was slumped against a planter, watching the sky change color as the sun lowered behind the trees, when she heard the door creak open. She perked up and turned to see Crowley leaning against the doorframe, holding the door open.

With a sigh, Crowley said, “Come on, Peach. Get inside.”

Zira jumped up and brushed the grass off of her rumpled dress before clasping her hands behind her back and walking to Crowley quickly with her head bowed. Crowley closed the door behind her as she entered the cabin and Zira stood just beyond the door, unsure of what to do. 

“Sit down,” Crowley commanded, pointing to a small table in the corner of the kitchen they were standing in. “I will get you some dinner.” 

Zira sat and patiently waited as Crowley fixed a plate for each of them. Crowley sat with Zira as she placed the plates and silverware on the table. It looked like some kind of pot pie and a nice bit of fresh salad.

“Thank you,” Zira said softly. Crowley didn’t respond. She just picked up a fork and started eating. 

Zira looked at her own plate. It looked absolutely wonderful. Zira wondered if Crowley had been the one to make it all. “Where’s your uncle?” Zira asked as she began on the lovely meal in front of her. 

“Who, Sarge?” Crowley’s uncle was a sergeant for some kind of informal militia, and ‘Sarge’ was like her pet name for him. So there must have been  _ some  _ love there, right? “He’s in his armchair watching football. He’s probably either shitfaced or asleep by now.”

“Did you cook dinner?” Zira asked, trying to sound cheerier than she felt.

“Yeah,” Crowley said shortly.

“This is delicious,” Zira said, after she took a few more bites. It  _ was  _ delicious. Zira wouldn’t lie about food. She really should have let Crowley cook more often when they lived together. “Are the vegetables all from the garden?”

Crowley looked up at Zira then and gave her a piercing stare. “Zira, why are you here?”

“I told you. I wanted to see you.”

“Did it occur to you that maybe  _ I  _ didn’t want to see  _ you?" _

Zira was silent. It hadn’t occurred to her. All that she knew was that she had felt unbelievably empty and she hadn’t thought there was any other solution than to see Crowley. She realized coming had been selfish of her. She was good at that, wasn’t she? Being selfish?

After an agonizingly long period of silence, the tension so thick you could cut it, Crowley looked down at her food and said, “How long were you planning to stay?”

“I took the week off of work,” Zira replied.

Crowley nodded, still looking at her plate. “It’s too late for me to get off of work tomorrow. But I might be able to get a few days off later in the week, since it’s the off-season.”

“What are you doing for work right now?” Zira asked. She hoped Crowley was still freelancing or working in art in some way.

Crowley looked up at Zira. “I work in a café in Nags Head.”

“Oh,” Zira said. “Well… that’s nice.”

“It’s shit,” Crowley said. 

“I’m sure that’s not true. I would love to come see where you work. Could I maybe go with you tomorrow? I can just read. Or even just see a little of Nags Head.”

Crowley eyed Zira and sighed. “Yeah. I guess that would be okay.”

They finished their meals quietly, and Zira felt on edge the whole time. Crowley took their dishes and then found a towel for Zira to use for a shower. Zira felt uncomfortable, like she was intruding, like she wasn’t quite welcome. 

At least Crowley seemed to be okay with her staying the entire week. She wasn’t sure what her visit would accomplish, but at least being in Wanchese with Crowley and not having any idea what would happen was better than the empty existence she had been leading just a day ago.

After she showered and changed, she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She kept her duffle in the hall and hovered outside of Crowley’s bedroom door, not daring to invite herself in. Crowley was sprawled across the bed on her stomach with headphones in, probably listening to music, and hadn’t noticed her standing there.

Crowley’s room was small and relatively bare- just a double bed and a nightstand and one of those old fashioned wooden dressers. The walls were papered with band posters. The bands were all old rock bands, like the ones people their parents’ age listened to. Zira wondered if that was the type of music Crowley was listening to now, as she lay on her bed.

The posters hung in a way- corners falling, funny creases- that told Zira they had been up for a long time, fallen and retaped again and again. She guessed they had been put up when Crowley had first moved in as a teenager. 

Zira knew Crowley had moved in with her uncle when her single mother had been charged and imprisoned on felony drug charges. Heroin possession, third offense, 15 years. 

Knowing something like that was entirely different than seeing the real evidence of it: the room Crowley had moved into during that traumatic time in her life.

Zira knew that Crowley knew that her mother was sick. A victim of the opioid crisis, like so many others. She also knew that knowing that didn’t make Crowley resent her any less.

Zira couldn’t have imagined experiencing that kind of instability. What kind of trauma Crowley had experienced, first in living with an addict and then in seeing her imprisoned without any meaningful access to rehabilitation. Zira couldn’t have imagined living without even one stable parent. 

Crowley’s uncle may have provided a safe haven for her, but he didn’t seem exactly right in the head either.

Crowley had lived so much of her life almost completely alone.

In a way, though, it meant Crowley was free. She didn’t have anyone to disappoint.

What a terrible thing to think. 

Zira was thankful for her family, she was. She had loving parents and loving sisters and a great big extended family. And maybe they were a bit too judgemental. And maybe they all thought a bit too highly of themselves and their opinions. But they had good hearts, all of them, somewhere deep down. 

And that was the thing, ultimately, that made Zira make the decisions she made. Because she valued her family and she knew she was a lucky one. So maybe their love was conditional. It wasn’t something Zira had tested yet. But if she didn’t have to break what could be their conditions, why would she?

But, if breaking those conditions wasn’t the reason she was at Crowley’s bedroom door, what  _ was  _ the reason? She didn’t have an answer to that.

Zira knocked softly on the door frame to let Crowley know she was there. Crowley flipped over and sat up, crossing her legs and popping the earbuds out. 

“Hey,” Crowley said gently. “Was your shower okay? I mean, did you have enough hot water and everything?”

“Yes,” Zira said, continuing to stand at the door. “Thank you.” 

“You can come in,” Crowley said. 

Zira very shyly entered the room, unsure if she should sit. “If you have blankets, I would be happy to set myself up on the couch,” she offered. “I realize my being here is an imposition…”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll sleep here with me.” Crowley sounded firm, but also… resigned.

“Are you sure?” Zira asked.

“Yes,” Crowley said firmly. “I’m sorry I was angry before. I- I’m glad you’re here. I mean- just- it’s good to see you.” 

Zira let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Crowley gestured to a spot on the bed next to her and Zira approached cautiously. She gingerly sat next to Crowley, leaving a wide gap of space between them.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Zira said.

Crowley looked down into her lap, brushing some hair behind her ear. “What do you want to do? While you are here, I mean?”

“I don’t know. What is there to do?”

“Well, on the Outer Banks there’s some lighthouses and there’s Jockey’s Ridge- that’s these big sand dunes- and there’s the Wright Brothers’ Memorial. There’s an aquarium in Manteo with sea turtles…”

“That all sounds really lovely,” Zira said. 

Crowley nodded without looking up. She looked flushed. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth,” she said, getting up while continuing to avert her gaze.

After a very small, “Okay,” Zira was left alone again. 

Why was being together so painful? Crowley was clearly still hurting after Zira had given her what was, if Zira could be honest with herself, a flat out rejection. But Zira hadn’t really wanted to reject Crowley. She never should have complicated their relationship in the first place. It had been pure selfishness during a moment of weakness.

This thing in their friendship, however, this awkwardness, this hurt, was a rough patch, that was all. Anything could be overcome with enough determination and grit. They’d been friends for some  _ eight years! _ Surely, they could stitch it back together.

Zira’s goal for the week, she determined, as she sat on the bed alone waiting for Crowley to return, was to bring some semblance of normalcy to their friendship.

It would probably be easier after a good night's sleep. Less tension all around.

After dragging her duffle into the room and fishing out a book, Zira crawled under the covers of the bed, taking care to scoot to one side as much as she could, giving Crowley plenty of space. She turned to the page she had bookmarked and began reading, her eyes already feeling heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: Stupid Girl by Jennifer Nettles
> 
> Bear with me, y’all, Zira still has some work to do.
> 
> Tangential story: My lovely partner who I love, and who we shall call Jam Man, has been helping me work through the emotional beats of this section of the work, and I just have to share one of the funny things he said to me:
> 
> He reads through this chapter for me, and, after he gives me his helpful comments, he says, “You really just put yourself in Zira, huh?” and I am a little offended, readers, so I say “What do you mean?” He says, “This whole thing about being terrified of driving and taking the Greyhound bus? You are just writing about your experiences!” He pauses, then, to laugh at me. “I mean, the thing about the WiFi?” And then he laughs at me some more.
> 
> For context, I am a notoriously nervous (and some might say bad) driver (did I win a “worst driver” superlative in my high school drama club? No comment.), and last time I visited my family without Jam Man, I took a Greyhound bus because I didn’t want to drive alone (because he is always the only one who drives when we drive any significant distance, partly because I hate to, and partly because he doesn’t trust my driving) and, yeah, okay, maybe I am still bitter about the WiFi situation on the bus.
> 
> Okay, okay, okay. Also, before he started helping me with this section, he hadn’t read the fic, so I was explaining what was going on, and he was like “I know what’s going on. Crowley called Zira a snack and then Zira was like (he says in a high pitched southern accent and with a hand on his hip) ‘I _have_ to eat the _low calorie_ chips ahoy so my momma doesn’t say anything about my figure!’” And of course, I’m laughing by now, so he says “See! I listen to you recording!” Anyways, I’ve had too much fun with bringing him into my writing this week.


	14. Don't You Wanna Stay

When Zira woke up, light was streaming through Crowley’s window, giving the room a soft glow despite the shadows cast by the pine trees surrounding the cabin. Zira couldn’t remember falling asleep. 

As she became aware of her surroundings, she noticed Crowley’s weight, heavy next to her. It felt... whole. Like all those mornings in Asheville since Crowley had left had been fragmented, missing this vital piece. Like she had been floating in a hot air balloon without the proper weights, just rising into the air with no control, drifting farther and farther away from the solid earth, closer and closer to the sun and to her doom. It wasn’t until the balloon was properly weighted, though, that she realized how far she had drifted.

Crowley was sleeping soundly, her breath deep and slow. Zira felt herself relaxing into the feeling of lying next to her. 

It occurred to her that she had been reading before she fell asleep and she wondered vaguely where her book had gone. She slowly and carefully swept her arms around herself, searching for the book, but not finding anything. Had Crowley found her asleep, her face in a book, and pried it away from her, stowing it somewhere safely? The thought made Zira blush.

The negative feelings began flooding back in- the feelings of hurt and regret and awkwardness. The reminder of how wonderful Crowley was to her when she didn’t deserve it. 

She took a deep breath, slow and unsteady, and tried to prepare herself for the day ahead. It would be a good day. It had to be.

Zira slid out of bed, careful not to disturb Crowley. She tiptoed her way to her duffle, feeling her bare feet against the rough wood of the floor. The air felt cold and damp, but thick, too, like it was made of salt and other particles. 

Zira decided it would be best to bundle up and found a thick, oversized cardigan.

It wasn’t until Zira was fully dressed and ready for the day that she realized how odd it was that Crowley was still asleep. She worked in a café- surely it was open early. Zira had never gotten a chance to find out what time she was meant to go to work, since she had fallen asleep so quickly, but she had assumed it would be in the morning. 

Zira searched for Crowley’s phone, wondering if there was an alarm that would tell her. She found the phone on the floor, cocked at an odd angle and leaning against a leg of Crowley’s nightstand, like it had fallen. Zira picked it up and touched the screen, but there was no response. She tried the power button. It had to be dead. 

She frantically searched for a charger and found one just above where the phone had been, hanging over the nightstand like it had been pulled when the phone fell. Plugging the phone in quickly and seeing the red charging symbol flash on the screen, she turned to Crowley.

Zira gently pressed on Crowley’s shoulder, softly pushing to wake her up. Crowley frowned, eyebrows furrowing, and then she stretched in the catlike way of hers- arching her back, reaching her arms above her head, squirming and sliding in the sheets. She turned her head and blinked blearily at Zira, who was kneeling next to the bed, hovering next to her. 

Crowley seemed confused, like she had forgotten Zira had come. “Zira?” she asked. Zira simply stared at her, wide eyed. Her words, her warning of the time, were lodged in her throat. The panic that had put her at her knees at Crowley’s side pressed against the back wall of her mind, hiding behind her intense focus on Crowley there, peaceful and perfect in front of her, and she didn’t have any idea why. 

Crowley smiled at her and then bit her lip, looking at Zira the exact same way she had  _ that night, _ after, well… 

“Mmm,” Crowley breathed.  _ “Zira,” _ she confirmed for herself breathily, like she was in the sweetest dream.

Oh. Right. That was why.

Zira was struck with an overwhelming desire to kiss Crowley.  _ God, _ what she would give to taste those lips again… but that was  _ not _ why she was visiting, quite the opposite. Suppressing her feelings, Zira pushed the words out, forcing herself to speak. “What time do you need to be at work?” she croaked. “It’s nearly 8:30.”

Crowley shot up to a sitting position, her eyes opening fully and all traces of sleepiness vanishing.  _ “Shit,” _ she said. “My shift started at 7,” she explained as she sprung out of bed and tore through her dresser, presumably searching for her work uniform. “What the fuck happened to my alarm?” she asked no one in particular as she shoved her head through a polo.

“Your phone was…” Zira started to say, trailing off. Crowley glared at the thing that was plugged in and resting on her night stand, the screen black. 

“Stupid thing can’t hardly hold a charge anymore,” she said as she ripped it from the wall and shoved it in a khaki pants pocket. She disappeared out of the bedroom and Zira felt numb, standing in the middle of Crowley’s room. Somehow, she felt like the alarm and the dead phone were her fault. She had thrown Crowley off, invaded her life, unwanted and unwelcome. She was a curse on Crowley, a magnet for disaster and pain.

Crowley popped her head back into the room with a wet mouth and her hair pulled back. “Come on, Peach! Let’s go!” Crowley demanded frantically.

Zira spotted her book on top of the dresser and grabbed it before rushing along with Crowley.

Crowley drove an old pick-up truck that Zira assumed belonged to her uncle. It looked shiny and clean, like someone was taking good care of it. Based on the lack of care shown to the front of the house, Zira suspected that someone wasn’t Crowley’s uncle. The inside was perfectly vacuumed and free of any random objects. Nothing like Zira’s own little bug that she hardly ever drove, but that she still managed to keep in a constant state of disaster. 

Zira looked out at the glassy water, perfectly still and calm, as she was driven over the Roanoke Sound for a second time. When they got onto the main road in Nags Head, it was much like it had been the day before: nearly deserted. 

They pulled into a very beachy café, all ocean spray worn wood painted in bright, happy colors, a little lighthouse sticking out of the roof. The inside was cozy, with a wooden diner style bar and lots of square tables and some nice cushioned armchairs in one of the corners. Zira settled into one of the nice chairs, getting comfy as Crowley ran into a back room to punch in. 

She looked at the copy of  _ Jane Eyre  _ she had been carrying with her. She had read it many times, but she was starting to feel differently about the book. She’d always liked it well enough- she had a general preference for Austen, but when she needed a desperate love story, the Brontës always delivered. She’d been thinking more, though, about what she would have done if she were Jane. Would she have stayed with St. John and a lackluster love life so that she could go to India and pursue her passion? Would she have thrown away her life’s hopes and dreams for true love? 

Zira liked the book, but she had never understood Jane’s attachment to Rochester. It was too dramatic, too unfounded, too wild. She had always thought  _ she _ would have done the practical thing. 

(And then everything worked out too perfectly at the end. It was ridiculous.)

But if she had the option? If everything fell into place and all of the objections were addressed and resolved? If all the barriers were removed and there was no reason to reject it? If there was a neat little bow that could be tied?

Zira was beginning to realize that her attachment to Crowley was dramatic. And unfounded. And wild. But there would be no tidy bow to tie. This was real life.

Zira sat in the chair for several hours, going through a coffee and a biscotti. There were a few other customers that filtered through, but it was by no means busy. 

Crowley joined Zira during her lunch break and they had deli sandwiches together. Crowley sat in another one of the cushioned chairs, throwing off her shoes and tucking her feet beneath herself. She always contorted herself in such funny ways, and seeing her do it made Zira feel silly with joy. It was just so  _ Crowley. _ Zira had really, really missed her.

Crowley hadn’t gotten in trouble for her tardiness- apparently, she was never late and she had worked so much and covered so many people during the high season in the summer that she was easily forgiven. In fact, when Crowley’s manager found out she had a friend visiting, she actually told Crowley she could leave early and have as many days off as she wanted (within reason, of course, and, well, without pay, since she was an hourly employee). 

Zira wondered if Crowley had been working so hard in the summer to avoid thinking about Zira and how much she had hurt her…. She decided that train of thought could only lead to pain, so she shut it down quickly and turned her attention to the moment at hand.

“What do you wanna do?” Crowley was asking over her sandwich. “We have the whole afternoon now.”

“I think I just want to see the beach for now,” Zira said. She hadn’t gotten to feel her feet in the sand yet and, besides, part of her just wanted to be with Crowley without the intrusion of having to be  _ doing _ something. 

“We can go up to Corolla. It is a bit of a drive, but the beach is nicer up there. It’s less developed,” Crowley suggested.

“No,” Zira said. “No more drivin’. I want to see what’s right here.”

So they found themselves on a beach in Nags Head, walking side by side in the sand. It was windy and chilly, but the sound of the ocean and the salty smell and the wet sand squishing beneath Zira’s feet made the cold not matter. The beach was sort of gloomy- the sky was gray and there were long abandoned, dilapidated houses hanging over the surf in places, waiting to be swept out to sea. The beach was fairly empty, except for the occasional dog owner letting their dog run around and chase the seagulls.

The beach certainly wasn’t as well kept and polished as the places Zira had been with her family near Savannah or in South Carolina. But the ocean air was calming. And there was something else- the knowledge of this place being  _ Crowley’s _ in some way. Zira felt closer to her.

Eventually, they walked so far that the way was blocked by a crooked, blackened, wooden beach house, windows missing their glass and wood covered in damp rot, leaning into the rising tide. 

Zira turned and walked up the beach to dry sand and sat, Crowley following just a step behind.

“Thank you, Crowley,” Zira said, when Crowley sat next to her. “This is absolutely lovely.”

Crowley looked out over the ocean. “I haven’t done anything.”

“You let me stay,” Zira said.

“Yeah, well,” she said, still not meeting Zira’s eyes. She sighed. “You’re my best friend.”

Zira smiled. Maybe all wasn’t lost after all. “You’re my best friend, too,” she said.

Zira and Crowley spent the week together and it was wonderful, perfect, blissful. Crowley showed Zira everything there was to see on the Outer Banks and Roanoke Island. Zira ate her fill of donuts and seafood and managed to bring home several extra pounds of sand every night. 

Crowley showed her the vegetables she had been growing and how to harvest them. There were carrots and collards and leeks and kale and every autumn green. Zira cooked and ate with her and it felt normal and good. 

Zira could have stayed with Crowley in that little cabin for eternity. 

She imagined how happy she would be if she did.

On the very last night, Zira and Crowley stayed up late into the night, sitting around a fire in the backyard of the cabin, bathing in starlight. They were sitting directly on the ground, in the dirt around the homemade pit circled by an odd assortment of rocks Mr. Shadwell had clearly collected from the surrounding woods. 

Zira didn’t want to go to sleep. She didn’t want to get into another Uber and then another bus. But she needed the rest of her vacation days for Thanksgiving and Christmas. She only got a total of fourteen.

They were sitting close to each other, in companionable silence, enjoying the beauty of the gentle fire and the brightness of the dazzling plethora of stars. 

Crowley was a hair’s breadth away from Zira. Zira could feel her body heat and imagined she could hear her heartbeat. Crowley was calm, peaceful. Zira wanted badly to hold her hand. They’d done it before. Hundreds of times. But Zira was afraid it could pack new meaning now, pack new hurt. She didn’t reach out.

Instead, she spoke. “Crowley?” she asked. 

“Hmm?” Crowley responded absently, face turned up to the sky.

“Are you happy?” Zira asked.

Crowley was quiet for so long that Zira wondered if she’d heard her. But then, quietly, still looking at the stars, she said, “That’s a loaded question.” She looked at Zira then, locking eyes with her. She didn’t seem angry, just pensive. “Are you?” she asked.

Zira looked at her hands, which were sitting on her lap. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully.

“You know, I read an article,” Crowley said, looking at the stars again. “It was about all these historical women authors. It said there is historical evidence, letters and stuff, that makes some historians believe they were gay or queer. Charlotte Brontë and Jane Austen and Louisa May Alcott. All those authors you like. I guess they can’t actually know, but I thought it was interesting.”

“That is interesting…” Zira said. She felt the need to be clear; they were treading on dangerous territory, afterall. So, softly, delicately, shyly, she said, “It doesn’t change anything, though.”

“Yeah. No, I know. Of course,” Crowley said, nodding a little too much. She picked up a stick to poke at the fire. “I just thought, you know.” 

Zira didn’t know. She didn’t know why Crowley was talking about this. It felt counterproductive to the normalcy of their friendship. It felt loaded. 

“The article said Louisa May Alcott didn’t want Jo to marry anyone in _ Little Women, _ did you know that?” 

That, Zira did know. She had always thought of it as a sort of independent woman thing. And it made sense, since the romance at the end really was very bad. 

“I knew there was a reason I liked Jo,” Crowley added.

“Well, of course. Everyone likes Jo,” Zira said flippantly. “Hold on, you have read  _ Little Women?” _

“Nah. I’ve seen the movie with Winona Ryder like a hundred times, though.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have expected you to be a fan…”

“My mom…” Crowley said slowly, pausing from her fire poking. “She was the fan.” The way she talked about her mother, like she was dead, was so odd. Like she loved her, but she was gone. It was heart-breaking.

“Oh,” was all Zira managed to say.

“It’s late,” Crowley said. “Should probably, you know. Head to bed.”

“Yeah,” Zira agreed, though she didn’t want to. Crowley was already using her stick to push around the coals of the fire, burying the sparks in ashes. “Crowley?” Zira asked.

“Hmm?” Crowley said, her focus on the coals.

“If you ever wanted to- I mean, you know my door is always open. You could stay with me… you could come back to Asheville.”

Crowley gave a clipped “Yep,” and Zira knew that meant no. That meant,  _ no way in Hell, you’ve got to be kidding me, didn’t we establish the boundaries? _

“Just a visit, if you ever wanted….”

Crowley gave a curt nod, and that meant  _ maybe. I’ll think about it. Maybe I can, in a year or two or ten, when my heart isn’t bleeding, when I can get over the stake you lodged into it.  _

Maybe that wasn’t what either of those things meant, but it was as good as. Crowley wouldn’t be coming back to Asheville. This was an end.

And it had to be an end, didn’t it? Because if Zira wasn’t going to change her mind, that had to be it. Right? She couldn’t keep doing what she was doing. She couldn’t keep living this imaginary life with Crowley while continuing to refuse any amount of commitment. She couldn’t keep expecting Crowley to bend to her every whim, just so she could reject her again and again. 

Because the thing was… Crowley  _ would.  _ Any time Zira called, Crowley would come running. Zira had never stopped to notice it before, but it was what Crowley had always done throughout their entire friendship. But this time was the worst. Because she had dropped everything for Zira this week, after she had made her boundaries clear, and after Zira had trampled all over them.

Zira showing up to Wanchese and invading Crowley’s life, expecting her to take her in, to be willing to be friends, willing to be  _ just  _ friends, was not just selfish. It was cruel. 

The realization hit her like a wave with an undercurrent. Crashing down on her and pulling her under at the same time. Pummeling her and beating her into the sand until her throat was filled with knives of quartz and saltwater.

What had she been  _ thinking? _ Crowley had a hard enough life already. The evidence had been in her face the entire week! And she had the nerve to sweep in, uninvited, just to make it harder? Just so she could make herself feel better, without regard for how it might make Crowley feel? 

Things could never go back to the way they were. They could  _ never _ be friends.

Because as long as Zira tried to keep Crowley in this limbo, this purgatory, as long as Zira tried to keep Crowley in her life without facing the consequences, she would hurt her. She couldn’t keep stringing her along. She couldn’t just show up, anytime she wanted to, giving Crowley hope, and then dashing it at the last minute.

Zira needed to make a choice, once and for all.

If she was going to have Crowley in her life, she  _ couldn’t _ do it halfway.

But she also  _ couldn’t _ have Crowley  _ and _ her family’s approval. This was something Zira had only become more certain of.

So what that meant, what Zira hadn’t wanted to accept, but that she couldn’t deny any longer, was this: she  _ couldn’t _ have her cake and eat it too.

Not this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Don’t You Wanna Stay, by Jason Aldean and Kelly Clarkson
> 
> The article Crowley is talking about is real, but of course, I can’t find it.
> 
> If you haven’t seen the new Greta Gerwig adaptation of Little Women, let me just say that it is 👌👌🔥🔥 and features a nicely queer coded Jo 🙌. This chapter takes place in 2018, so that adaptation did not exist at the time of their convo 😭. I did grow up on the Wynona Ryder adaptation, though 💯.
> 
> Only slightly tangentially related story from my life:
> 
> Did I ever tell y’all about my former best friend and the hand holding thing? I had a friend who I went to high school and college with that I was really close to and that I did this platonic hand holding thing with. I’m pretty sure it was platonic, anyways, I’m like 98% sure she is straight. Anyways, I was, ah, not to terms with my bisexuality yet, and when we would be out in public holding hands, I would secretly hope people would mistake us for a couple, which I probably should have taken as a sign. This is not even to mention the time I slept over in her dorm room and we spooned. That was the same night I had a conversation with her about how “sexuality is a spectrum” and she was like “have you ever been attracted to a woman?” and I was like “oh yeah, definitely.” And she said “huh.” So I said “have you?” And she just sort of tilted her head and said “no,” like it was the most curious thing. I say I’m 98% sure she is straight because _maybe_ she was doing a Zira on me, because, like, why was she so okay with so much physical intimacy with me??? But I don’t think so. Regardless, she lives in Japan now with no intention of returning to the states and I have a very lovely partner who reads my fanfiction and gives me advice despite confessing to me that it is “physically painful” for him to read it because it is just “so sappy and romantic” 😅. I love him very dearly. (If you are wondering, I was the big spoon with my friend, which actually made sense, because she was smaller than me, and I remain the big spoon with Jam Man, which makes less sense, because he is much larger than me, but he really likes being spooned. Big spoon rights!)


	15. Surrender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story exists in an alternate timeline where Covid19 never happened, because I just don’t want to deal with it, okay?
> 
> I still haven’t found Crowley’s article, but here are articles on each one of our novelists in order of least convincingly queer to most convincingly queer.
> 
> [Charlotte Brontë](https://www.out.com/art-books/2015/6/16/was-charlotte-bronte-gay)  
> [Jane Austen](https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2017/07/queering-the-work-of-jane-austen-is-nothing-new/533418/)  
> [Louisa May Alcott](https://www.them.us/story/little-women-greta-gerwig-jo-march-queer)
> 
> CW: Family member death; a tiny bit of dark humor/references to the (recent) history of transphobic policy in North Carolina

**November 2019**

During Thanksgiving week, over a year after the failed attempt to rekindle her deepest friendship, after Zira chose, finally, to let her friend go forever, when Zira was at home with her family, without a man, for _yet_ another year, while she was considering whether her momma would judge her for taking a second piece of pie, saying something about ‘portions’, or worse, something about her singledom, Zira received a phone call from Mikayla. 

First it was a text, suggesting they catch up. And then it was a real, honest to God phone call. Zira hadn’t talked to Mikayla in… goodness gracious, it had to have been _years._ What in the world would have possessed Mikayla to want to catch up? Did she actually _miss_ Zira? Zira hadn’t thought they’d had that kind of friendship. 

She really hadn’t minded that they’d drifted apart. Probably a terrible thing to not mind. Even more terrible when she found out why Mikayla was calling.

Bridesmaid.

She wanted Zira to be a bridesmaid. 

Not Maid of Honor, thank God. But, still.

It would be her and Sandy and Uri and Mikayla’s Little. A childhood friend, too. The childhood friend was the Maid of Honor- smart of Mikayla, diplomatic. They would all be meeting her when they got together for the Bachelorette.1

Zira hadn’t known Mikayla had been dating someone. Certainly not seriously enough to be getting _engaged_. She should have, probably, but she’d taken a breather from social media. It made her too _sad._ All those happy people boasting about their happy lives. All those engagements and weddings and _babies._

Zira realized that it was silly to mourn her lack of love life when she was hardly even making an effort to meet anyone. 

She had crushes, of course. 

There was a man in her office. He had kind eyes and he was smart and he took Zira seriously. He was only a few years older and he was _very_ good-looking. Like an Adonis. He had strong looking hands and a chiseled jaw. He had a foreign accent that was _to die for._ He also had a wife and baby at home.

There was a woman at Zira’s book club. Zira wouldn’t have joined the book club on her own, but one of her co-workers had convinced her to come along, and she had to make some kind of effort to socialize, didn’t she? The woman Zira liked had big glasses and a serious face. She looked like the type of person to run for office. And she always made insightful comments about the books, bringing in points about _gender norms_ and _social contexts._ Zira didn’t need to go down the rabbit hole again for why having _that_ crush was a bad idea. It was well tread territory. Anyways, she didn’t even know if the woman was interested in women, much less if she was single.

Why did Zira do this to herself? Did she purposely latch on to unavailable people to avoid ever having to be vulnerable? Was that what she had been doing all those years with Crowley? 

Except, that couldn’t have been it, because she _had_ been vulnerable with Crowley. There wasn’t anyone else she’d been _more_ vulnerable with.

It was the phone call with Mikayla- _not_ the passive aggressive comments from her parents, or the curious prodding from her sisters or their husbands- that served as Zira’s wake-up call. She needed to, well, at least _try._

And she did. For a time. She tried to meet people the old fashioned way, first, because online dating intimidated her. But actually having to go _do_ things and _meet_ people.... Most of the activities Zira was interested in were fairly woman-dominated, anyways, so it wasn’t an effective tactic.

By February, Zira was _almost_ ready to give the online dating thing a whirl. _Almost._ She’d taken the time to ask her co-workers and her book club friends for advice, pushed past the mortification of it, to at least try to zero in on the right website to try. 

She wasn’t going within a ten-foot pole of Tindr or anything that wasn’t a _serious_ website. She was going to try the free trial for Match.com. Thirty days, and then she could decide if she would cough up the money. She would have to be very strategic, though, about when she started the trial, because if she could make the best of those thirty days… Did she wait until before or after Valentine’s Day? Were there statistics she could look at? Waiting until after Valentine’s Day would only be putting it off, she had to just _do it._ Right?

And then she got a phone call that she had been expecting _even less_ than the phone call from Mikayla. She’d actually been sitting at her dining table, trying to draw up the courage to make the gosh darn Match.com account, when she got it. No text message beforehand, but there was no need for one. Just the sight of the name on her phone made Zira forget everything, _everything_ , and pick up the phone instantly.

“Crowley?” she said, instead of hello. 

“I. I,” Crowley said, sounding like she had a frog caught in her throat. “I didn’t know who else to call.” Crowley’s voice was thick with distress. Like she had been _crying._

“What’s the matter, Crowley?” Zira asked slowly, like she was trying not to spook a wild animal.

“It’s- it’s Sarge,” Crowley choked out.

“Did something happen?”

“Yes.” She held the ‘s’ like a hiss, like she was struggling to speak.

“Is he- is he okay?”

“ _No_.”

Zira heard the distinct sound of sobbing coming through the phone. Zira hadn’t heard Crowley’s voice in over a year, and now she was on the phone _sobbing_. Zira was numb with shock. Crowley didn’t _sob_. That was _Zira’s_ forte.

“Crowley,” Zira heard herself say, hardly feeling like she was controlling it. Feeling like she was on autopilot. “I’m here, okay? On the phone with you. I’m not going anywhere. You just- you just stay on the phone line as long as you need, okay?”

“It’s not a phone line,” Crowley said through sniffles.

“What?”

“We are using cell phones, right? So there’s no line.”

Zira chuckled softly. “No, I suppose not. What am I supposed to call it, then?”

“I don’t know. Phone network? Phone stream? Neither of those are right… maybe there isn’t a word for it.”

“Okay. Then stay on the phone network stream, how is that?”

Crowley laughed and that was something. Her laugh was lovely. And there was some sense of relief. 

Zira didn’t know what was going on, but she would let Crowley have the space to tell her if she wanted to. Or not, if she didn’t. Clearly, whatever it was was very stressful. And Zira could be there for her friend, she _could._

“Thanks, Peach,” Crowley said.

“Anytime, Sweet Pea.”

Crowley was quiet for a while, and then she spoke up again.

“What’s that about?” she asked.

“What?”

“‘Sweet Pea’?”

“What do you mean? It’s just an endearment.”

“I know it’s an endearment. You’ve never used any endearment on me.”

That wasn’t true. Zira had called Crowley ‘Sweet Pea’ before. On that one day. After _Van Dan_. But Crowley hadn’t been in her right mind that day. She probably didn’t remember.

“You call me ‘Peach’. Isn’t that an endearment?”

“That’s different. That’s like an in-joke.”

“It’s a joke?”

Crowley made a frustrated sound. “No. I just mean it’s our thing. It’s different.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Because- you _know_ why it’s different. It’s coming from- I mean, because _I-_ ugh, never mind, this was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have called you.”

“ _Crowley!”_ Zira called desperately. “Please don’t hang up the phone!” 

There was silence and Zira looked at her phone to see if the call was still going. It was.

“Are you still there?” Zira asked when she brought the phone to her ear.

“Yeah,” Crowley said.

“I’m calling you ‘Sweet Pea’ because… it’s my way of expressing that I care about you, Crowley. And I do. I care about you _deeply._ I’m sorry if I am overstepping. I’m sorry that I said it. I-“ Zira sighed. She had to always say the wrong thing with Crowley, didn’t she? “I won’t do it again. But I _will_ be here for you for as long as you need. You can call me or text me. I will be here for you even after Sarge is okay.”

“Sarge will never be okay.”

“Sorry?”

“He died.”

Crowley hadn’t been able to speak through sobbing just moments ago, and then she said it so flatly. The words drew all of the air out of Zira’s lungs.

She hadn’t expected that. That he was sick? Or injured? Or in some kind of trouble with the law? Those she was prepared for.

Sarge wasn’t- hadn’t been- that old. 50s? 60s? Certainly not any older than Zira’s own parents. God, _Zira’s parents._ What if one of them died suddenly? They could. It could happen to anyone. 

Zira felt herself starting to panic. Her heartbeat quickened and tears started welling up. No. _No._ She couldn’t lose control. Not when Crowley needed her. 

She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. What did _Crowley_ need.

“There’s going to be a funeral,” Crowley said. “His militia friends are organizing it, thank God. They were already talking about it at the hospital- after- after it happened. And my mom- she’s going to be there. She can get a special emergency leave, or whatever.”

“I’ll be there,” Zira said, and she knew right away that it was imperative that she was. 

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I can use sick leave for family emergencies.”

“I’m not your family.”

“You’re as good as, Crowley. I mean it. I’ll be there.” She took a moment, though, to remember the boundaries so carefully constructed and so carefully kept for the past year and a half. She took a breath and added, “But only if you want me there.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want me there?”

There was a beat of silence, and Zira waited.

“Yes. Thank you.”

And that was it. There were the words that remained unsaid (I love you, _I love you,_ God, I _love_ you), but that was it.

Zira _was_ there. She took an Uber the entire way to Wanchese because she still refused to drive herself (long distance driving gave her too much anxiety, and the bus trip was just _too long)._

She wore black and she sat through the memorial for a man she hardly knew. She cried, anyways. 

Before the burial, she went to the viewing and talked to him. She thanked him for taking care of Crowley. For giving her shelter and love. 

When she returned to Crowley, she stayed by her side, and wrapped an arm around her, and held her hand. She was with her as his friends and distant family members offered condolences, as they went through a line to hug Crowley and say meaningless nothings.

She met Crowley’s mother, who was the spitting image of Crowley, but with longer, stringier hair, and sunken eyes, and a weather worn face. She looked simultaneously frail and too young to have a 28-year-old daughter.

Crowley’s mother, who looked at Crowley like she was a shining star. The biggest and brightest in the sky. “My precious, precious baby,” Crowley’s mother said, pushing Crowley’s hair behind her ears with delicate fingers and wiping away her tears with her thumb, the way mothers do. She cradled Crowley’s face and seemed unwilling to ever let go. “You are my world, honey,” she said through tears. “And. I know I haven’t always been there for you- but- I love you, honey. You have to know that I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

And they hugged and it was impossibly hard to watch. Far too intimate and raw.

“And when I look at you, honey,” Crowley’s mother said, refusing to let go, rocking Crowley from side to side. “I am so _proud_.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Crowley’s mother looked at Zira like she was a hero. Like she was an angel sent from Heaven to redeem her and to be Crowley’s guardian in her place. “Any friend of Nettie’s is a friend of mine,” she said, eyes shining. “And you, honey, you are just so special, ain’t you? So strong.” She gripped Zira’s shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug. “Coming all this way for her,” she said, cigarette breath warm in Zira’s ear. “You take care of my Nettie, y’hear?” 

Zira nodded helplessly, her own tears streaming. She didn’t know if she was the right person to take care of Crowley. She’d hurt her so much. But who else was there?

Zira and Crowley ate endless amounts of meatloaf and casserole and pork barbecue and there was still too much in the fridge.

When the week of the funeral was over, and when Crowley’s mother had returned to prison, they packed up the food and Crowley’s things into Sarge’s truck- Crowley’s now- and Crowley drove them to Asheville. 

Crowley couldn’t stand to be in that empty house with ghosts of her uncle everywhere she turned. And the driving calmed her.

When they got to Asheville, they curled up together and cuddled on Zira’s couch. They watched every adaptation of _Emma_ they could find. And there were still the words that remained unsaid (I love you, _I love you,_ God, I _love_ you).

Zira returned to work and they settled into a routine, because there wasn’t anything else to do.

Crowley didn’t have a job but it didn’t matter because Zira would take care of her. Zira would _always_ take care of her.

They didn’t talk about how long Crowley would stay. They didn’t talk about what any of this meant for them or their friendship.

It started to feel like those days again, those days before everything changed, when they were just living together in bliss. Except it wasn’t those days and everything _had_ changed, which meant there was still that edginess, unspoken. It grew as time passed, a widening gulf, a silent resentment. 

Zira knew it couldn’t last. That they would have to part ways. But Zira couldn’t kick Crowley out, either. She didn’t want to.

February turned to March turned to April, and Zira was trying to pretend everything was fine. It was _fine._ She hadn’t tried the Match.com free trial, but she couldn’t very well do that while Crowley was still vulnerable, could she?

She didn’t need to, anyways. She was still under 30. Barely, but… she had her books to entertain her, didn’t she?

The tension was there, though. And it had to come to a head eventually, didn’t it?

“I see you still have Harry the Rabbit.”

Zira looked up from the book she had been reading from her armchair in the living room. It was a Saturday in mid April. “‘Harry the Rabbit?’” Zira asked, perplexed. Her eyes locked onto what Crowley was brandishing as she leaned against the kitchen island. 

It was a pink bunny.

Zira’s heart started beating a mile a minute. She shut her book abruptly. “You named my vibrator?” she asked. She didn’t care about the answer. She didn’t want to have this conversation. All she could think of was how stupid she had been to leave it in the bathroom. Since Crowley had left, she had gotten out of the habit of hiding it.

And there was Crowley, casual as could be, shrugging. “Yeah. I thought it was cute.”

“It’s not a rabbit,” Zira said. Why was she talking? This was already so humiliating.

“Yeah, you’re right. It doesn’t have the dildo part. I’m kind of surprised you don’t have a rabbit, actually.” Sweet Jesus, _how_ was she so casual? It was infuriating.

“I do, I just-“ Zira felt like her face was going to melt clear off. She looked at her knees and smoothed her skirt. “I find that I don’t really need the dildo part.”

“Really?” Crowley said, in an overly surprised voice, like she was making fun of Zira. Not teasing in a nice way. “I’d have thought that would be the most important part to you.” The venom in her voice sliced.

Zira felt her chest well up with guilt and pain. She looked up at Crowley, eyes pleading her to stop, to forgive her. “ _Crowley,”_ she said.

Crowley stood straight and put the vibrator down on the kitchen counter. “I’m going for a walk. Need some fresh air.” She swiveled and made a beeline for the door.

Zira stayed in her armchair and cried.

When Crowley came back a good while later, so much later that it was already dark out, Zira was still in her chair. Crowley apologized, standing away from Zira at the kitchen counter. “I’ve been-“ She sighed and rubbed her arms, looking at the ceiling. “I just. I don’t know what we are doing and I feel like-“

“We’re taking care of each other, that’s what we’re doin’,” Zira choked, new tears streaming.

Crowley crossed the room to kneel at Zira’s knees. “Please don’t cry, Zira. I- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t push you. With everything you’ve done for me-“

Zira shook her head frantically. “I haven’t done nearly enough for you. Not _nearly_.”

“Don’t say that-“ Crowley said, laying her hands on Zira’s knees.

“You deserve everything, Crowley. You deserve the _world._ And I haven’t been brave enough, or strong enough, to give it to you.”

“I don’t need the world,” Crowley said in a small voice.

“Crowley,” Zira said, because the pain was going to eat her alive. “I love you.”

“I _know_.”

“You _know_?”

“Of course I know. And I hate everything about it. It drives me completely crazy.” Crowley started getting worked up, eyes getting watery. “I really wish you didn’t. Because then this would be easier…”

“I don’t want to meet other people,” Zira blurted. That gave Crowley pause.

“Okay…”

“I was going to try Match.com, but I don’t want to.”

Crowley passed her hands up over her face slowly until they landed in her hair, gripping tightly. Her eyes were closed and she had a pained expression, like it was taking every ounce of her will power to maintain her composure. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, voice strained.

It was a valid question. 

Zira didn’t answer it.

But the thing was- Zira _knew_ what she wanted. She'd always known what she wanted. 

She’d been a coward and a fool.

“Crowley…”

“ _No,_ Zira,” Crowley said firmly. Her hands fell from her hair to Zira’s thighs and started squeezing too tight, her nails digging into Zira’s skin, like it was all she could do to keep it together. “I can’t- I can’t keep doing this.”

“Crowley…”

“Thank you. For being there for me. It meant so much. You can’t know how much it meant.” Crowley shook her head frantically, tears rolling down her cheeks. “But I think it's time, Zira.”

“Crowley…”

“I’m calling it. Someone has to. Because I can’t just wait around for the days that you want me-”

“You’re right.”

“I can’t be your placeholder until you find someone else.”

“I know. And you’re right.”

Crowley nodded solemnly, letting go of Zira’s thighs. She stood and looked at the ceiling. “I’ll leave tomorrow,” she said. 

Zira closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Crowley. I should have said so so much sooner. And I know that no amount of ‘sorry’ could ever be good enough. Because how I have treated you… it’s unforgivable.”

“Don’t do this,” Crowley pleaded. “Please don’t do this now.”

“Just listen, Crowley, _please_. And if you never want to hear anything else from me again, I’ll understand.”

Crowley fell silent.

“How I have treated you is unforgivable. I didn’t realize it at first, because I was selfish and vain. But I realize it now.” Zira opened her eyes to see Crowley looking down at her, arms crossed and lip trembling. Zira looked at her earnestly. “But if there is a chance, even the _slightest_ chance, that you might be willing to have me, to try a relationship with me- an honest to God, romantic relationship, no parts left out- I am ready to choose you. I am ready to choose you over and over again.” Crowley scrunched her face at Zira, looking uncertain. “To Hell with my parents and what they think,” Zira added. “To Hell with Macon. To Hell with the entire state of Georgia!”

Crowley smiled just a little and let out a small amused sound. “I can’t imagine that the _entire_ state of Georgia is homophobic.”

“Well…”

“It’s not like North Carolina is a beacon of inclusion.”

Zira chuckled. “No, it certainly isn’t.” Zira knew Crowley was deflecting, but at least she hadn’t said no.

“Like, it _famously_ isn’t,” Crowley continued. “I mean, sure. Maybe pre-2016, if you were to ask someone what the most anti-Queer state was, they might have said Georgia. But _now....” **2**_

“At least we have Governor Cooper,” Zira said, feeling laughter bubbling up in her chest.

“At least we have- actually, I think Governor Cooper could be doing a better job,” Crowley said.3

And then they laughed. And that felt good- laughing. Really belly laughing. Crowley sat down cross-legged on the floor and Zira slid out of her armchair to join her there. And they laughed until they couldn’t laugh anymore.

“Come with me to Macon for Easter,” Zira said, when the laughter had petered out, and they were left smiling on the laminate flooring.

Crowley stopped smiling, then. “I don’t know, Zira…”

And that was like a gut punch. Because if Zira had just been braver, sooner...

“You don’t have to decide now,” Zira amended quickly. “But if you do… Come with me, I mean- I can tell my family.”

Crowley looked into her lap. “You don’t have to tell your family,” she said.

“If it’s what I need to do to convince you I am serious about this, I will,” Zira insisted.

Crowley looked up at Zira. “You’re really willing to give this a shot?” she asked.

“Yes,” Zira responded firmly.

“That’s enough,” Crowley said.

“Yes?”

“Yeah. We can wait to tell your family. Or never tell them. I don’t care. I just want to know that you aren’t going anywhere.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Crowley nodded, looking into her lap again. “I’d like to see Macon,” she said. “I still haven’t had one of your peaches.”

“Peaches aren’t in season.”

Crowley made a face and let out a hum of disappointment.

“But there’ll be plenty of time for peaches,” Zira assured.

Crowley didn’t say she already had the prettiest peach. She didn’t jump into Zira’s arms and kiss her senseless. She didn’t say or do anything of the sort. She just nodded into her lap. And then she went to bed. 

Zira leaned her head back onto the foot of her armchair and let out a shuddering breath. She was exhausted. But she gave Crowley time before she followed her.

She found Crowley curled up in bed on her usual side, facing her nightstand. Thinking she was asleep, Zira got ready for bed quietly and slid into her own side. She was taken by surprise when Crowley’s arm shot out from herself, grasping at Zira, taking hold of her pajama shirt and tugging. Suddenly, Zira was fitting herself against Crowley like they were a jigsaw puzzle and they were each other’s missing pieces. 

And if that wasn’t just as nice as could be.

“I love you,” Crowley whispered so softly, Zira wondered if her ears were playing tricks on her.

She nuzzled Crowley’s back anyways and answered with, “I love you, too,” and a kiss to Crowley’s shoulder blade. Crowley hummed contentedly, hugging Zira’s arm to her chest, and Zira knew that, somehow, everything would be alright.

She still had one more question, though. “Did you name it ‘Harry’ because of _When Harry Met Sally_?” Zira whispered.

“No comment,” Crowley replied sleepily. And Zira couldn’t help but smile.

* * *

Footnotes:

1. Bachelorette, as in Bachelorette Party [American]: this is the party that brides-to-be have with (primarily) women friends prior to getting married; I think in Britain this is called a Hen Party?

2. In 2016, the infamous “Bathroom Bill” (HB2) was passed in North Carolina, restricting the rights of trans people to use the bathroom matching their gender identities.

3. In 2017, shortly after his election, current Democratic governor of North Carolina, Roy Cooper, passed a compromise bill with the Republican legislature partially repealing HB2, effectively stopping the “bathroom ban” but maintaining the power of the state to regulate bathroom usage and prohibiting city level anti-descrimination protections until the end of 2020.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: Surrender, by Angaleena Presley
> 
> If you want to learn more about the status of the “Bathroom Bill” in North Carolina, check out the second page of [this newsletter](https://sites.nicholas.duke.edu/dice/files/2019/11/September-2019-Pride-in-North-Carolina.pdf) ! It’s surprisingly difficult to find a comprehensive and concise article about this, but yours truly wrote the HB2 update on this newsletter last year after some extensive research. It is from September, but as far as I know, there hasn’t been much more movement. (This is from a newsletter series by a grad student club I was a part of.)
> 
> Please know that although intolerance is real in the South, vibrant communities of love, acceptance, and activism are real in the South, too, and we are not done fighting. (Page 1 of the above newsletter has a short history of the Pride movement in North Carolina, written by my friend.)


	16. Rumor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mild homophobia

**April 2020**

“Bless you for driving our Junebug here. I always get so nervous when she is making that drive. Her driving, well, it leaves something to be desired, if you know what I mean.”

“Momma!”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Fell, I am well aware.”

“Oh, Sweetie Pie, you can call me Charlotte. And you just make yourself right at home, y’hear?”

They were standing outside on the half circle drive in front of Zira’s family home. Crowley had let out a stream of expletives when she’d pulled the truck through the iron gate, and the house, white columns and all, came into view. “Fuck, Zira,” she had said. “I knew your family was rich, but  _ fuck.”  _ Zira had felt herself blushing. It was embarrassing, somehow. (“Is that a fucking  _ fountain? _ ”)

Now, the truck was parked and Zira’s daddy was carrying all of their luggage inside. He had insisted he get the bags without any help, even though Zira knew his back wasn’t what it once was. He was pigheaded and stubborn, so it was no use spending energy arguing.

It was warm out. The kind of warmth that meant it was the dead of summer in Asheville, but in Macon was just on par for a balmy April day. Spring had always been Zira’s favorite season growing up because she could wear pretty spring dresses and enjoy being outside before the oppressive heat of a Georgia summer set in. 

Crowley was with Zira as her friend. And Zira was thankful for that. But she knew she would have to tell her family this weekend, anyways. 

“Zira, could you show your friend to Adelaide’s room?” Zira’s momma asked.

“What about  _ my  _ room?” Zira asked, confused.

“Well that’s for you, Sweet Pea.”

Zira’s momma had been one of those mothers who went above and beyond: bringing snacks to every one of Addie’s softball games and never missing a single one of Maribelle’s dance team competitions. She’d organized fundraisers and hosted team parties. She’d been involved in the school theatre department, even, during Zira’s brief stint. Nowadays, she was the overindulgent grandmother. So maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising that she had a separate room set up for Crowley. But Zira still found it a little odd. She’d always let Addie and Maribelle have their friends stay in their rooms with them when they came to visit from college.

“Crowley can stay with me in my room. I don’t mind.”

“Oh Sweetie, I know, but I think it’s for the best this way.”

Zira didn’t have any idea what her momma meant by that, but she also knew that when her momma got an idea in her head, it was best to go along with it.

Zira showed Crowley to Addie’s room, which was across the hall from her own. Crowley’s bags were already set neatly next to the bed. “I’m sorry,” Zira said to Crowley from the doorway, as Crowley flopped down on the bed to try it out. “I don’t know why my momma is being weird about this.”

“It’s okay,” Crowley said, stretching herself out in that catlike way of hers. “She put the work into setting up both rooms, didn’t she? Anyways, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like we were going to have sex tonight or something.” 

She said it cavalierly, but Zira cringed, because it was true. It would have been true even if they hadn’t been trying to keep things hush hush for the weekend. Things had been slow and hesitant between them. It had been two weeks, but they hadn’t moved much past cuddling and cheek kisses.

They’d shared one real kiss. Zira had been waiting for Crowley to come to her. And she had, that morning before they loaded up their bags into Crowley’s truck. Their bags were stacked at the door and Zira was moving to pick one up and Crowley stopped her. She grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from the bags. She gently pushed her against the wall of their (because it was  _ theirs _ , and it had been for a while) apartment’s entryway. 

Crowley kissed Zira slowly, and Zira melted, and she knew she couldn’t ask for anything better. And she knew she couldn’t lose her, not again. Which meant she had to unequivocally and irrevocably choose Crowley, even if it meant she was on her way to what would very likely be her final pleasant visit with her family.

“Will you come downstairs with me?” Zira asked from the doorway of her sister’s room. “I don’t want to talk to my parents alone.”

Crowley nodded and sprung up to join her.

Zira would tell her family after Easter lunch. They would enjoy the weekend best they could, and then Zira would tell them. And if after they had spent two days with the loveliest person Zira knew, they still shunned them, if they shunned  _ Crowley, _ that would be it.

It was a hard decision to make. Because she loved her family. But she couldn’t stop loving Crowley. So, she and Crowley would go through the weekend as a united front. And if they needed to, they would leave as a united front, too.

Their united front was short-lived, though, because almost as soon as the two of them sat at the breakfast bar to chat with Zira’s momma, Zira’s daddy appeared to take Crowley away.

“The shed door has been hanging for a while,” he announced to the kitchen. “I got new hinges for it.” That was usually his way of announcing that he was going to disappear in the yard for a few hours to do outdoor labor. Sometimes, it was also a bid for help. Zira was  _ not  _ in the mood. 

“That’s great, honey,” Zira’s momma said absently.

“Crowley,” her daddy said next, which was surprising. “Can you come out and help me?”

“Um, yeah,” Crowley said, sharing a perplexed glance with Zira. “Let me just get my shoes.”

And then Crowley disappeared to help Zira’s daddy with the  _ shed  _ and Zira was left alone with her momma, which was just  _ lovely. _

Zira looked at her momma for some kind of clarification for why the two of them were acting extra strange. When her momma didn’t offer anything, instead paying attention only to the carrots she was peeling for supper over the kitchen sink, Zira ventured forth with her question. “Why did Daddy just enlist my friend into yard work?” she asked.

“Oh, Zira,” she said, looking up from the carrot she was working on. “Your daddy is trying his best. We both are. All of this is very new for us. We are both trying to be open-minded. But, well. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks in one night, can you?”

Zira stared at her momma blankly. Somehow, she was more confused.

“Don’t look at me like that! You know that your daddy isn’t a man of many words. He’s just doing what he knows. And that’s how he bonded with Blaine and Jackson.” 

Blaine and Jackson were Addie and Maribelle’s husbands. Why was she talking about Addie and Maribelle’s  _ husbands?  _

“I understand why you didn’t want to tell us flat out, Sweet Pea. But when you said you were bringing her here...”

Zira cut her momma off. “I’m sorry. Tell you what, exactly?”

“Sweetheart. We were born at night but we weren’t born  _ last  _ night,” Zira’s momma said, gesturing with the carrot and the vegetable peeler. “I’ll admit that we wanted to deny it for a while....” She returned to the carrot, peeling it furiously, like it had personally wronged her. “And it has taken us some time to come to terms with it. But we’ve thought about it and prayed about it, your daddy and I. We love you, and we don’t want to miss out on any parts of your life. So if your honey bun happens to be a woman-”

Understanding hit Zira like a ton of bricks.

“My _honey bun?”_ Zira asked in astonishment. _“_ Just to clarify, did you just call Crowley my _honey bun_?”

“Whatever you want to call it. Just spare us the details.”

Zira took a deep breath. And then she took another one. She was going to need a minute to recover. 

“What makes you think that Crowley and I are in a relationship?” she tried. She wondered if something had changed in the last two weeks in the way she spoke on the phone. She wondered if she’d let something slip. She wondered if her parents had installed listening devices in her apartment. 

Zira’s momma mercifully abandoned her rampage against the carrots to look at Zira with a sort of resigned expression. “Well, you were living together, Sweet Pea. And now you are living together again. We were so happy when we found out because we were so worried about you over Thanksgiving. Not that we particularly approve of living together before marriage….”

“But, friends live together all the time. Why would you think…?”

“You’ve never had a boyfriend, Sweet Pea.”

“That’s not true.”

“Johnny from high school doesn’t count.”

Zira couldn’t say anything to that, because that  _ had  _ been her only boyfriend, hadn’t it?

“You remember that we met Crowley at your graduation?” Zira’s momma asked.

Zira nodded. “Yes, I remember that.”

“Well, you would have to be blind as a bat to miss the googly eyes your two were giving each other. Now, really.”

“Okay,” Zira said. “Okay,” Zira said again, trying to wrap her mind around the conversation she was in. “Just to clarify: if Crowley and I  _ were  _ in a relationship, you would be okay with that?”

“That’s what I have been trying to tell you.”

“And we are going to  _ church _ tomorrow?”

“Well, of course we are going to church. It’s Easter,” Zira’s momma said, as if there was never any reason to call that into question. Except there was  _ every _ reason to call that into question.

“You want  _ me and Crowley _ to go with you to  _ church? _ As a  _ couple? _ ”

“Oh, come now. We’re Methodists. It’s not Westboro Baptist. If anyone has a problem with you two, they’ll at least have the common decency of not saying so to your face.”

“But- what about Daddy’s mayoral campaigns? Wouldn’t this be a little bit of a problem?”

“Oh, Sweet Pea. Your daddy is retiring after this term.”

_ “What?” _

“We were going to tell you over dinner.”

Zira didn’t think she had ever been hit with so many shocking pieces of information in such a short period of time  _ in her life. _

“And Uncle Todd? In the legislature?”

“Well. Don’t you worry about that, Sweet Pea. It could be a good thing. That Democrat almost won that special house race in Atlanta, remember? Times are changing.” Zira’s momma shook her head like it was a shame, which didn’t really support the acceptance she was apparently trying to show.

“I… I…” Zira couldn’t form words or sentences. She stared ahead without seeing anything.

Her parents already thought she and Crowley were in a relationship. They weren’t disowning her or trying to convince her to not be in that relationship. They were trying to be welcoming to Crowley. They had  _ prayed  _ about it. They were  _ okay  _ with it. The reception was a bit lukewarm, but. They’d already come to terms with it and were willing to accept it! There wasn’t  _ anything _ Zira could tell them to shock them more! Well, okay, they probably weren’t ready for the ‘bisexuality’ conversation. But besides that…

It was too good to be true. Things didn’t happen like this. Bows didn’t tie up this neatly.

“I need to go talk to Crowley,” Zira said.

“Hold on one sec, Sweet Pea,” Zira’s momma said.

Zira blinked at her, letting her face come back into focus. She and her momma looked a lot alike. They all looked alike, her and her momma and her sisters, though her momma’s hair was gray, now that she’d finally given up on dyeing, and she had crows feet at her eyes. 

“Does she treat you right, Sweet Pea?” Zira’s momma asked gently.

Zira thought about it. It was a good question that she wasn’t sure she had asked herself before. She’d always been too busy  _ pining _ and  _ yearning _ and generally pitying herself. But she thought about it now.

She thought about the way Crowley encouraged her to work on writing her book. She thought about how Crowley comforted her when she had meltdowns and calmed her down when she was anxious. She thought about the years and years Crowley had been there for her, had been her rock.

“Yes,” Zira said. “She does.”

“And you treat her right?”

And that was an even better question, because Zira had done a lousy job of it, hadn’t she? But there was no use dwelling on her mistakes. She’d do best to keep moving forward, to make things right, now. “I’m trying,” Zira said. And she was.

“And you love each other?”

Zira didn’t have to think about the answer to that question. “Very much,” she said.

“Well. That’s all that is important.”

Zira nodded slowly. “Thank you, Momma,” she said.

“Of course, Sweet Pea,” her momma responded. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Momma.”

“To the moon and back.”

“To the moon and back,” Zira responded absently, slipping out of the breakfast bar stool she had been sitting in.

She felt as if she was in a daze as she wandered through the house and out the backdoor. Beyond the stone patio and and the impossibly green grass and the peach tree and the weeping willow was the red barn style wooden shed. It looked like they had finished with the door because Zira’s daddy was opening and closing it while Crowley watched, a power drill hanging loosely in one of her hands. 

Crowley was wearing that flannel of hers around her waist (why she had been wearing it in the first place, with how warm it was, Zira didn’t know), and she was wearing black spaghetti straps and her hair was pulled back into a poofy pony. And there she was, indulging Zira’s daddy, acting like she was interested in fixing shed doors.

Zira watched as they put the tools away and her daddy closed the shed. She watched as her daddy shook Crowley’s hand, actually  _ shook Crowley’s hand. _

As Zira’s daddy headed back toward the house, Zira watched Crowley wander the yard, looking as fascinated as if it were the secret garden. She went to the willow tree and reached a hand out to touch some strands of leaves. 

The sight of it made Zira’s heart spring into her throat. It brought back vivid images of the dreams she had had. The dreams she had had over and over again, slightly different each time. The thing that always remained the same was that they were about Crowley. And there were apples.

But Crowley had never been in Zira’s yard before. Not in real life. And there were no apples today. The peaches in the peach tree weren’t even ripe.

There would be strawberries. Strawberries would be ripe in April. Zira walked into the yard to find the strawberry patch. She wanted to share some with Crowley. She wasn’t sure how to approach her- this was a delicate subject. She might could share a couple of strawberries to at least get a conversation started.

The strawberries were in a large patch to one side of the yard, next to the rows of blueberry stands. Zira picked a few strawberries that looked juicy and didn’t look like any animals had bitten them.

She strode across the yard to meet Crowley, who had moved to examine the peach tree.

She held out two strawberries for Crowley in her outstretched palm. Crowley looked at her suspiciously as she took them. “What are  _ you  _ so happy about?” she asked.

Zira shook her head, aware she was struggling to cover her smile. She popped the greens off of her own two strawberries and popped them in her mouth. They were good. So much sweeter than store-bought.

Crowley nibbled on one of the strawberries and her eyes widened in delight. “These are  _ really _ good,” she said in surprise. She ate the first strawberry, dropping the green on the ground, and then put the second one fully in her mouth, holding onto the green so that she was just sucking her fingers. She closed her eyes and moaned as she sucked and swallowed the strawberry.

Seeing that made Zira giggle with pleasure, and she threw delicacy out the window. 

“Kiss me?” she asked gently.

Crowley opened her eyes and looked at Zira in shock, dropping the green of the strawberry she’d just eaten. “What,  _ here?”  _ she asked, like Zira had lost her mind. “Your parents are  _ right there _ ,” she said, pointing towards the heavily windowed house.

“I know.”

“Wha,” Crowley tried, before closing her mouth and trying again. “What is happening?”

“They know.”

“They  _ know? _ ” 

“Yes.”

“You  _ told _ them?”

And there was the catch, because there had to be one. Zira’s smile disappeared. “Well, no,” she said. “I was planning to tell them this weekend, though. I swear I was!” Zira felt like she was becoming hysterical. Because what she had thought was wonderful luck may have been the opposite. Because how could she convince Crowley of her intentions? “I was ready to stand up for us! I was ready to walk away from them!” 

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know, I know! But I was going to, anyways! I was going to wait until tomorrow, before we left, but then, but then, they  _ guessed, _ Crowley, they just  _ guessed!  _ I mean, they  _ assumed!  _ That’s why they’ve been acting so weird! That’s why they put us in separate rooms! That’s why my daddy was trying to bond with you over outdoor chores!”

Crowley cleared her throat. “Oh,” she said.

“But the thing is, Crowley. They’re okay with it! I didn’t think it was possible, but they’re okay with it!”

Crowley nodded slowly.

“But I don’t want you to think, Crowley, I don’t want you to think that I wouldn’t have chosen you, anyways!” Zira thought that maybe she was shouting. “Because I already told you! I made my decision, and I know, I  _ know  _ what you are going to think-” _ _

But Zira didn’t finish her sentence because Crowley surged forward and shut her up in the best way possible. Crowley’s hands tangled into Zira’s hair, grasping tightly, lips finding hers desperately, and they _ kissed  _ under the branches of the peach tree full of unripe peaches. Zira wasn’t sure what to think of it, what it meant, but Crowley’s lips were uninhibited and passionate, and they took Zira’s breath away. She didn’t even care that Crowley’s fingers were stained red and getting strawberry gunk into her hair. 

When Crowley pulled away, they were both panting as they pressed their foreheads together. 

“This is a good thing,” Crowley said.

“Yes?”

“Yeah.” 

Zira closed her eyes in relief and Crowley pecked her quickly. 

“I know what you think I was going to think,” Crowley said. “And I wasn’t going to think that. I believe you. You know why?”

“Why?” Zira asked breathlessly, still trying to recover from Crowley’s kisses.

“I have a secret to tell you.”

“What?”

“You’re a really shitty liar,” she said. Zira opened her eyes and her mouth to protest, but Crowley pecked her again to keep her from speaking. “Don’t try to argue. You won’t win. I know you too well. We’re that bosom thing, remember? Bosom buddies.”

_ "Friends _ . But, how do you even know...”

Crowley chuckled. “Zira, you told me. You can’t keep anything to yourself. You can’t help it. It’s like whatever you are thinking just tumbles out of you. You would choose honesty over tact any day of the week.”

Zira deflated at that, because she  _ couldn’t  _ argue, and it was true, and it wasn’t exactly flattering.

“You wanna know something else?” Crowley asked.

“What?”

“I really fucking love you.”

And this time, it was Zira’s turn to kiss Crowley. It was their sweetest kiss yet because it didn’t have any caveats. And because Crowley’s mouth tasted like fresh strawberries.

(Only a fool blames a peach for its bitterness before it is ripe. Zira had been a fool.)

Zira felt unbelievably happy. It was relief and it was joy and it was awe. She couldn’t have wiped the smile off her face if she tried.

“Come on,” Zira breathed, when they couldn’t possibly keep kissing anymore. “I think I heard my sisters get here with their families. I want to introduce everyone to my girlfriend.”

Crowley let out a pleased hum. “You got it, Peach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: Rumor, by Lee Brice
> 
> It may _feel_ over, but there is one more chapter! And I promise you won't want to miss Chapter 17: it's a treat.


	17. LATE CHAPTER UPDATE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers. It is time for the last chapter, and I am missing my posting date for the first time! I _should_ be able to get the chapter up tomorrow, Tuesday at the _latest_. I am so excited to share this one with y'all, I hope you will think it is worth the wait! For now, have my very sketchy drawing of Zira and Crowley standing in solidarity with Black lives.
> 
> Here's the thing: the majority of Black Americans live in the South today, and it is on the backs of Black Americans in the South that this country was built. 
> 
> Black lives are deeply woven into the fabric of the South: in its deeply racist history and present, in its rich cultural identity that can be found in its food and music. I am writing a story about two Southern white girls, so let me be clear: Black lives are so important in the South, and white supremacist ideals so insidious, that Southerners _cannot_ be neutral.

Zira and Crowley say Black Lives Matter! This Georgia Peach and Carolina Girl stand in solidarity with black lives.

[Black Lives Matter](http://blacklivesmatter.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: an amazingly talented podfic listener made this [ new and improved version](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24820852), and I am blown away!


	18. Grow Old with Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excellent news this morning!! The U.S. Supreme Court ruled that the Civil Rights Act's workplace discrimination protections apply to sexual orientation and gender identity. This is a huge win for Queer Rights!!! [_New York Times_](https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/15/us/gay-transgender-workers-supreme-court.html)

_(Comparing Apples to Peaches)_

**October 2010**

**Western Carolina University**

**Cullowhee, North Carolina**

Crowley was- well, as stupid of a word as it was to describe it, it was the only one she could think of- giddy. _God_ , it was a stupid word. She’d been trying to curate a certain image for herself- cool, unattached. It was freshman year of college, wasn’t that the time to be who you wanted to be? And she wanted to be… smooth, or something. Someone people thought was… mysterious, maybe? But instead, she was going around being _giddy._

Whatever, it was worth it, image be damned. 

She’d just had the _best_ afternoon with the cutest fucking girl, who she’d _maybe_ been crushing on for a while. And she was pretty sure she had a date. 

So, she had every right to be giddy. Wasn’t that supposed to happen to people in love? Okay, maybe _love_ was jumping the gun. She could still be giddy, dammit. 

She couldn’t wait to tell her roommate, Ana. It wasn’t like she and Ana were best friends- Ana was kind of a killjoy, actually. But she had to tell _someone._

When Crowley burst into her dorm room dramatically, Ana was predictably laying on her bed holding a psychology textbook above her face.

“Guess who has a date tomorrow!” Crowley proudly exclaimed, dropping her Jack Skellington tote bag at the door and throwing her arms up. Ana did not look up from her book. Killjoy, remember?

“Your hot friend from down the hall?” Ana said in a bored voice.

“Who? Dagan? You think she’s hot?”

Ana shrugged. “Sure. In a punk rock sort of way.”

“Huh. Well, anyways, no.”

“That skinny nerd guy who fell down the stairs last weekend after only drinking one natty light?”

Crowley rolled her eyes. Ana was being intentionally obtuse, obviously.

“No.”

“Then I’m out of guesses.”

“You are such a jerk. I don’t even know why I talk to you,” Crowley said, dropping her sunglasses on her desk and flopping onto her bed with her old iTouch. 

After scrolling the internet silently for a bit, Crowley looked back at Ana. “You really think Newton Pulsifer has a better shot at a date than me?” she asked, somewhat hurt. Crowley couldn’t see Ana’s face from behind the big textbook, but she could just imagine her smirking. 

Ana sighed and put down her textbook. “So you have a date?” Ana asked, in a way that said ‘I really don’t care about this, but I am trying to be nice’.

And then there was a knock at the door. 

“Come in!” Crowley called. The door swung open to reveal Dagan, Crowley’s friend and fellow sorority sister. 

“Oh, thank _God,”_ Ana said, picking up her textbook again. “Someone else you can talk about this with.”

Crowley rolled her eyes, because Ana was the worst, and then sat up on her bed to give Dagan some room to sit next to her.

“Talk about what?” Dagan asked.

“My date,” Crowley said, feeling herself puff up.

“Oh ho ho! You have a _date?”_ Dagan asked. At least _someone_ knew how to react appropriately. 

“Yep!” Crowley said, proudly. “At least, I think so…” 

“Who’s it with?” Dagan asked. Another appropriate response.

“Only the cutest girl in our pledge class.”

“Let me guess,” Ana interjected from behind her textbook. “It’s a blonde white girl.”

Crowley glared at Ana. “Excuse me. Nobody asked you. You _lost_ your opportunity to be in this conversation.”

“So it _is_ a blonde white girl,” Ana responded.

“So what?” Crowley replied, offended.

“All I’m saying is, I don’t think this campus is winning any awards for diversity any time soon.” Ana herself was Latina and never missed a chance to make sure everybody knew it.

“I’m allowed to think blonde girls are cute,” Crowley responded petulantly.

“Hold on,” Dagan said, a slight sound of alarm in her voice. “You aren’t talking about Zira Fell, are you?”

Crowley turned to Dagan. “What, you don’t think she’s cute?”

“I don’t think that she’s queer, Crowley. Like, in any way whatsoever.”

Crowley furrowed her brows. “You think she’s straight?” Dagan gave her a look that said ‘I’m not sure how to be any clearer’. “But she agreed to go on a date with me.”

“Did you say the words ‘Zira, would you like to go on a date with me?’”

“Well. No. But I asked her to dinner. That’s universally known as a date thing! Anyways, she’s always blushy around me. That has to mean she likes me, right?”

“It could just mean that she’s socially awkward.”

“She made a point of telling me that her roommate would be gone.”

Ana groaned dramatically and closed her textbook as she sat up. “You people can’t figure anything out without my help, can you? This is obviously a question of psychology. Lucky you know me, really.”

Crowley looked at Ana like she had lost her mind, because clearly she had. “You are a freshman. You have had, what? Two months of college psychology?”

“Advanced psychology. I took AP in high school.”1

Crowley rolled her eyes. “So, Psych 202 instead of 101?”

“Do you want my help, or not?”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“Okay. I need the details,” Ana said, leaning forward off the edge of her bed and looking at Crowley seriously, all business. “What was said?”

“Well. I asked her if she wanted to have dinner and hang out sometime. And then she offered that we watch a movie tomorrow night in her dorm room and order in and she said her roommate usually disappears on the weekends, so we would be alone.”

“Hmm. Anything else?”

“She said to wear something comfy.”

Ana tapped her chin thoughtfully, like she was Sherlock Holmes or something. “Fascinating,” she said, which wasn’t at all helpful.

“Is that all you have to say?” Crowley asked after a while.

“Well. You are definitely in a gray area.”

“It sounds to me like she just wants to hang out and watch a movie. Since, you know, that’s what she said,” Dagan interjected.

“She will communicate it with her presentation,” Ana said, raising an index finger like an all-knowing professor. She was so full of it. “Meaning, you will be able to tell based on what she is wearing. If she is wearing sweats and a t-shirt, then obviously Dagan is right. If she is wearing something sexy…”

Well... That actually wasn’t a crazy idea. “So you are saying-” Crowley said. “I should show up prepared for either scenario, but I’ll know whether it is a date once I get there based on how she is dressed?”

“Can I just comment?” Dagan said. “Because I actually know this girl. Let’s just entertain the idea that Zira is queer and she is intending for this hang out to be a date. Even if that is true, I don’t imagine her wearing lingerie.”

“You don’t have to wear lingerie to be sexy. It will just be clear that she tried to look good,” Ana said confidently.

“Well, what am I supposed to wear if I don’t know what she is wearing?” Crowley asked.

“You should wear something neutral. Let her set the expectations.”

They were interrupted by knocking on the door and Crowley jumped up to answer it. She found herself face to face with Newton Pulsifer, the guy who fell down the stairs. The guy had bad posture and giant glasses. “What’s up, Newt?” Crowley asked.

Newt was shaking slightly. What a dweeb, poor thing. “I, uh. Well.”

“Spit it out, Newt,” Crowley said. She felt a little sorry for him.

Ana groaned. “He’s here to see me,” she said flatly. She got up and pushed Crowley out of the doorway. “What do you want?” she asked, clearly annoyed.

Newt held up a pencil. “Just wanted to return this.” 

Ana looked at him like he was the stupidest person she had ever seen, but she took the pencil. “Thanks,” she said half-heartedly. “Is that all?” she asked.

“No,” he said, adjusting his glasses. Everyone waited for him to say something else.

“Well?” Ana prompted.

“I was just,” he started. He cleared his throat. Ana made a gesture with her hand indicating he should get on with it. “Would you like to maybe, uh, get dinner sometime? And hang out?”

Ana sighed heavily. “I’ll think about it,” she said. Newt nodded slowly. “Goodbye, Newt,” Ana said, when he didn’t leave. He nodded again and Ana rolled her eyes, closing the door on him. “Pendejo,” she muttered.[2]

Crowley pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrows at Ana. “So, you and Newt, huh?” Crowley said, as Ana returned to her bed, agitated.

“He’s helping me with stats. That’s it,” she said.

“Okay, but you agree that he just asked you out, right?”

“Obviously,” Ana responded.

“See!” Crowley exclaimed, looking excitedly between Ana and Dagan. “That is basically exactly what I said to Zira!”

“Okay, but the difference is that you are both girls,” Dagan insisted. “So the implication isn’t as obvious.”

“Dagan has a point,” Ana conceded. “But I still think there is a strong chance for you,” she declared. 

“So… neutral clothes?” Crowley asked.

“Yes. Something you feel good in, but not so sexy that it will make you feel embarrassed if it’s not a date.”

“Okay. I think I can do that.”

“You should definitely think about your undergarments. Just in case.”

“Fuck,” Crowley said, because she hadn’t even considered that. 

“Okay, this is unbelievable,” Dagan said. “Again, assuming this isn’t all wishful thinking, I don’t think Zira Fell would put out on the first date.”

“And how do you know that?” Ana said.

“I don’t know. Maybe because anytime she isn’t with her best friend, Mikayla, she is hiding her face in a book? Doesn’t really scream ‘sexually liberal’ to me.”

“Well. You still have to be prepared for every situation. Sometimes the shy ones are the wildest in bed. It’s a psychology thing.”

“Okay, you haven’t made any significant psychology points. You just keep saying the word ‘psychology’.”

Crowley sighed. “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared, right?”

“Right!” Ana affirmed.

Crowley looked at Dagan pleadingly. “Can you help me choose a bra and panties?” Crowley asked, feeling helpless and a little overwhelmed.

Dagan groaned. “I can’t believe I am going along with this, but fine.” 

They chose a matching set- black and lacy- and then Ana found Crowley a diagram online of how to make a dental dam and gave her two condoms, which Crowley safely stowed in her bra, just in case.

It was good. It was going to be really good.

It wasn’t good. 

Ana was still awake when Crowley got back to their room late Saturday night and she trudged in, head hung in despair.

“Oof. Didn’t spend the night, huh?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Crowley said, before she flung herself onto her bed without even taking her shoes off, burying her face in her pillow and groaning. “Dagan was right,” she grumbled into her pillow. 

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“She’s fucking straight,” Crowley said into her pillow. She pulled herself up into a cross-legged position and looked at Ana hopelessly. “It was going so well, I thought!” she said in distress, gesturing around herself wildly. “She was wearing sexy pajamas, just like _you_ said. And she was blushing and twirling her hair. And she paid for my food. And then we spent forever talking instead of watching the movie. And then when we finally watched the movie, we watched a fucking romantic movie while we _cuddled._ We cuddled!” Crowley brought the pillow to her face and screamed into it.

“¡Cálmate, nena!” Ana snapped.

“ _I don’t know what that means!”_ Crowley shouted into her pillow.

“It means calm down, you crazy bitch.”

Crowley removed the pillow from her face. “That’s easy for you to say. You have Newton Pulsifer.”

“That skinny idiot? Are you listening to yourself?”

“Can’t you at least _pretend_ to support me in my time of need?”

“Wow, okay. You are going to be fine. There are plenty of fish in the sea, remember?”

Crowley huffed. “Yeah. Yeah,” she said, calming down a little bit.

Of course there were plenty of fish. 

But Crowley had had her heart set on a _particular fish._

“She’s not just cute,” Crowley said sadly. “She’s really smart. Bookish, you know? And she’s really sweet. But, also, like, a little bit sassy.”

Ana gestured to Crowley’s face, making a circle with her hand. “No,” she said. “You need to get over her. Isn’t your sorority super gay? Like, isn’t most of the women’s rugby team in it?”

“Nah, that’s A Chi O. I didn’t get a bid from them. I guess I wasn’t sporty enough.” Crowley tilted her head thoughtfully. “But yeah, Phi Mu has a lot of queer girls, I’m pretty sure. I mean, I drew a rainbow on my name tag and a lot of the girls were excited about it. That’s a big reason I pledged.”

“Well, there you go,” Ana said. “Plenty of fish.”

Yeah.

Plenty of fish.

**October 2022**

**The Venue (event venue)**

**Asheville, North Carolina**

Crowley was giddy. There was no other word to describe it. But people were supposed to be giddy when they were in love, dammit. And holy hell, was Crowley in love. Weak kneed, heart aching, head over heels in love.

Besides, it was her wedding day. Best day of her life, or whatever bullshit people said about weddings. It was actually probably going to be a nightmare, what with trying to keep her mom from embarrassing her and having to wrangle the band of Sarge’s friends who had actually driven all the way from fucking Wanchese like they were her honorary uncles or something. Why had Zira’s parents paid for an open bar? The reception was going to be a circus.

“How did you end up with the groom’s suite?” Dagan asked as she, Ana, and Crowley arrived at said groom’s suite in their pajamas and full professional hair and make-up (courtesy of the Fell family, of course).

“How do you think? I volunteered,” Crowley said. 

“Wow, could this be any more gendered?” Ana asked as she scanned the room. She wasn’t wrong: the place was covered in framed photos of whiskey and beer and race cars and there was even a buck’s head over the door. The room actually had game consoles set up and a foosball table. It was all dark leather and dim lights. Zira was probably already upstairs in the white Hollywood style room with giant mirrors and lights, drinking mimosas with her sisters and Mikayla and her Little from Phi Mu. 

Luckily, this room still had a full length mirror, and they had gotten mimosas, too, instead of whatever they usually had down here, which was probably something equally stereotypical. And the fact that it existed was a plus. Most venues only had a single bridal suite.

Their dresses were already in the room hung up, but they were supposed to wait for the photographer to arrive before they started getting changed so they could have “getting ready” pictures. They had two photographers, of course, because Zira’s parents were loaded, so the other photographer would be upstairs with Zira.

The whole thing was sort of… unbelievable. Crowley had spent so many years loving Zira. She’d loved other people, too, sure. Which was why she’d thought friendship could be enough. And it was, for a long time.

But then Zira changed the rules, or the game, or whatever stupid metaphor could describe when someone accepts a heart gingerly given only to stomp on it. And Crowley hadn’t known if she would ever forgive her for that.

But the thing was- Crowley _knew_ Zira. She was indecisive and she overthought everything. It was like every single semester, when she spent weeks, sometimes months, torturing herself over course registration because she always wanted to take every course. And Crowley would watch as she laid out the extensive pros and cons for each one, and as she considered not choosing at all and submitting a course overload form. And Crowley would metaphorically bonk her on the head and remind her of how she’d kept saying that she needed to take fewer credits the next semester because she was drowning during the current one. 

But the thing was- Zira always knew which classes she really wanted to take. She just didn’t want to throw out the other ones because she thought they were the classes she _should_ take. Sometimes she needed a push, but once she actually made a choice and did what she wanted to do, she never questioned her decision again.

So, yeah. Crowley was skeptical when Zira said she had changed her mind. She’d been burned and she was scared. It wasn’t that she’d wanted to pressure Zira into anything- she wasn’t going to pretend that she knew what it was like to have a family like hers. But when they went to Macon, when Zira said she’d been planning to tell her parents about them, when she’d decided she was ready to take that kind of plunge, that kind of _risk_ , that was when Crowley knew she’d finally, actually made a choice (because that was what Zira was really bad at: making choices) and put her questioning to bed. 

It was nice, sometimes. Knowing someone really well. (It made their behavior predictable.)

It was nice, sometimes. Loving and being loved back. (When both parties were willing to admit it, anyways.)

It was nice, sometimes. Being proposed to. (Because, yes, Zira was the one that proposed.)

It was not so nice planning a ridiculous wedding with all the bells and whistles. Not with all the overbearing family members involved. That was mostly Zira’s family (and they had a lot of opinions), but even Crowley’s mom was around to try to butt in! Because she had finished her sentence. But at least if she was giving unhelpful wedding advice, it meant she wasn’t getting into trouble. Crowley hoped, anyways. (How many times had she relapsed when Crowley was a kid? Having to call an ambulance at age 10 when her mom wasn’t waking up wasn’t exactly the highlight of her childhood.)

The thing that was different this time, though, was that Sarge’s wacko militia friends had taken it upon themselves to watch out for her, which meant she was sober and safe. She was living in Sarge’s old house, because she had lost her trailer _years_ ago, and somehow, Crowley had inherited the place, but she sure as hell wasn’t using it. Knowing her mom was there made Crowley relax somehow.

Crowley’s mom was thrilled about the wedding, of course, so, though she couldn’t contribute monetarily, she had hand made two dozen centerpieces using hot glue and pine cones from the woods around the house. They weren’t half bad, actually. _She_ wasn’t half bad, either. A complete disaster of a person, but… she tried. 

She was supposed to be arriving soon. She wanted to be a part of the whole getting ready thing. She had wanted to do Crowley’s hair and makeup, but, well, there had been the professional session at the salon. And the manicures and pedicures the day before, which had been an entirely novel experience for Crowley. 

Crowley fiddled with her engagement ring as she lounged on the main black leather couch in the groom’s suite. Well, maybe not “lounged”. Her body was stiff, she was buzzing with pent up energy. Crowley sat up as Dagan handed her a mimosa and she sipped on it, willing herself to relax. It was the waiting. She was fine when she was busy, but the waiting built up her anxiety.

“Hey,” Dagan said gently from beside Crowley. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay, I guess,” she said. 

Ana pushed onto the couch on the other side of Crowley. “Yeah, I’m not buying that. You are all kinds of tense right now.”

“Cold feet?” Dagan asked.

“No,” Crowley replied quickly. “Fuck no.”

“Maybe try not to say ‘fuck’ during your vows,” Ana teased. 

Crowley cracked a smile. “I’m fine. Just worried about my _guests.”_

“Don’t worry about that. We will keep an eye on them. You just focus on you and Zira,” Dagan said.

“Anyways,” Ana added. “Someone is going to embarrass you. It’s like a wedding rule. Someone is going to make a drunken speech and people will talk about it for a year. But who cares?”

Crowley cared.

“Not helping,” Dagan hissed to Ana.

“It’s fine, y’all. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Dagan asked. “How do you feel about Mikayla being here?” 

Crowley perked up, feeling an evil grin come on. “Actually, I’m kind of gleeful about it. She was so mad when I showed up to her wedding as Zira’s date. _God,_ you should have seen her face.”

Dagan leaned over Crowley to address Ana. “I don’t think you ever met her, but Mikayla is from our ex-sorority and she is the _worst_.”

“Yep,” Crowley agreed. “Anyways, Zira was one of her bridesmaids and she was so unapologetic the whole time. God, I love her so much.” 

Zira had looked so beautiful that night. The bridesmaid dresses were actually really nice, Crowley had to give Mikayla credit for taste. They were full-length wine-red sheath dresses with a plunging neckline that Zira had been nervous about, but _fuck._

At dinner, Crowley couldn’t help but to keep kissing her cheek and neck and shoulder. Zira had blushed furiously, whispering that Crowley was embarrassing her, but she was glowing, too. 

Zira had been really happy that night. Something about weddings, maybe. “Ours will be better,” Crowley had whispered to her over dessert. She’d giggled and succumbed, then, giving Crowley a little kiss on the lips.

Mikayla hardly addressed Crowley the whole night.

“It’s possible Zira made Mikayla a bridesmaid just to spite her,” Crowley said to Dagan and Ana. “She can be devious when she wants to be,” she added proudly.

“Oh, _Nettie_! Ain’t you just a _sight.”_

“Hey, Mom,” Crowley said, as her mother pushed into the room, hands full of plastic bags. Dagan jumped up to help her, setting the bags on the coffee table in front of the couch, while Ana gave Crowley a look and mouthed _‘Nettie?’_. Crowley just shook her head as her mom settled next to her, smothering her with a long and tight hug, and smelling like cigarette smoke. 

“Are you girls feelin’ hungry?” she asked over Crowley’s shoulder, still clinging to her. “I just know all y’all been running around all morning like chickens with your heads cut off.”

“I could eat,” Ana said, not at all shy.

“Oh _good._ I brought y’all some barbecue.”

Crowley wrenched herself out of her mother’s grasp and eyed her suspiciously. “Where did you get barbecue? You know we are in the west, right? I don’t want _Lexington_ barbecue.”3

“And just who do you think I am? I brought this from home. Bo made it special.”

Bo was one of Sarge’s friends and he was a pitmaster.4 Best one Crowley knew. Crowley had grown up eating the barbecue he made in his backyard.

“ _Sick,”_ Crowley said.

“I thought you might just have a hankering for it,” Crowley’s mom said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She pulled out several tupperwares chock full of pulled pork from her plastic bags before puttering around, finding the little microwave in the corner of the room.

“Where’s the barbecue sauce?” Dagan asked when she opened her heated tupperware.

“Um,” Crowley said, looking at Dagan incredulously. “This is Eastern Carolina barbecue, the only real barbecue in the country.5 We don’t use that _sweet sticky tomato sauce_. That stuff is an insult to the poor pigs that gave their lives for us to enjoy them.”

“Um. I have a whole family in Kansas City that would disagree,” Dagan said.

“Get out of here, Yankee.”6

“I’m not a Yankee!”

“Close enough.”

“ _Ana_ is a Yankee!” That was true. Ana was actually from New York.

“I’ve never had authentic barbecue of any kind,” Ana stated plainly.

“What were you people doing for four years in North Carolina?” Crowley asked, looking between her two supposed ‘friends’. Did she even know them?

“Not eating barbecue, apparently,” Ana said.

“Well, you girls just give it a try, okay?” Crowley’s mom said sweetly. “I can always bring you something else if you need it.” 

They didn’t deserve that. If they didn’t like it, they could suck it up.

“Hey, Mom?” Crowley asked. 

“Yes, honey?”

“Do you think you could bring some to Zira? I would hate for her to miss out.”

“Of _course_ , honey.”

(Zira didn’t actually like Carolina barbecue very much. She grew up on Tennessee barbecue, so she _liked_ a thick and sweet tomato sauce, the heathen. But Crowley wouldn’t find that out until at least a year into their marriage. That was a good thing, too, because if Crowley had found out sooner, she might have reconsidered. Shared values are important for marriage, you know?)

The photographer arrived shortly thereafter and they got dressed and took photos and before they knew it, it was time. 

The venue was beautiful, all wood beams and exposed bricks and strung up lights. Zira and Crowley had chosen it. If it had been up to Zira’s parents, they would have gotten married at the Biltmore7 or something just as absurdly fancy. This more rustic place suited the two of them much better.

Ana and Dagan each walked down the aisle and then Crowley was escorted by her mom. Zira’s bridesmaids came next and then it was Zira, arms linked with her father. Her hair was done up with curls and flowers, not crazy different from Crowley’s, but to Crowley, she was beyond compare. She looked like a fantasy. A fairy princess or something. When she got close enough, Crowley could see that she was already crying. _Fuck._ This was going to be hard. Crowley really hoped she didn’t fuck up her vows.

It was a blur, after that. Lots of eating and dancing and having to talk to so many people that Crowley’s voice started getting hoarse. They had their own table, which was nice. They could have little moments of respite to complain about their family members and enjoy the wedding cake.

Bo was the one to make a drunken speech. It was embarrassing, but Crowley was in a forgiving mood because that barbecue was just _so damn good_. And nobody showed up with any Confederate flags, so that was a plus.

After everything was said and done, Zira and Crowley arrived at their fancy suite in the hotel and fell straight to sleep. 

It was the next morning that was the real treat. Waking up in silky white sheets, Crowley felt like royalty. More importantly, though, she felt like Zira’s wife.

Crowley snuggled behind a sleeping Zira, spooning her and kissing her awake. She grumbled at first, but Crowley kept kissing her shoulder and tickling her and she eventually giggled and opened her eyes, turning to glare at Crowley, clearly trying very hard not to smile.

“You absolute pest,” she said.

“Mmm. Stuck with me now,” Crowley purred, smiling wide and letting her hand wander under Zira’s pajama shirt. “Hey, did you bring Harry? I was thinking we could play with him this morning.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to name and gender my vibrator?” Zira asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Shh! Harry can hear you! He has big ears, Zira!”

“I’m filing for divorce,” she said, turning back to her side.

“Mmm,” Crowley murmured, wrapping herself around Zira and peppering kisses over her back. “Well I’m not signing any divorce papers.”

It was perfect in every way. 

One day they would buy a house and have a vegetable garden and maybe even add to their little family. But that was a long way away.

Before all of that, they were simply married. Living as they had before, but with so much more love and so much more peace.

Even better, Zira and Crowley actually published a children’s book together. Zira wrote the story and Crowley did the illustrations. It was the beginning of a lot of things for them. 

And the story- well. It was close to their hearts.

It was about a princess who was destined to rule a kingdom by the sea, but who had been cursed and turned into a seagull by an evil warlock. The warlock didn’t like that a girl might become monarch one day and punished the girl out of pure vengeance and spite. 

The warlock told the princess that there was no way to break the curse, but the princess was cunning. She knew that true love could break any curse. 

The princess searched far and wide, flying over the kingdom and landing before lords and knights and any noblemen that she thought could love her. 

The men she approached only saw a seagull. They were too important to give any mind to birds and they shooed her away.

The princess didn’t know how to find food as a seagull, but one day, she came across a girl tending a garden. The girl did not shoo the princess away, but shared with her the food she grew for her family in her modest garden at the outskirts of the kingdom.

At the end of each weary day, the princess returned to that garden. She grew fascinated by this kind girl who had very little to share, and yet offered her family’s best fruit and vegetables to a lowly seagull. 

The princess most loved the peaches and apples the girl grew in the garden’s fruit trees.

Many years passed and the princess grew tired of searching for love. She began to believe that true love did not exist. 

The girl from the garden began to look forward to the seagull visiting her each night. She set aside the best fruits and vegetables and waited at the garden wall for the bird to fly down and join her.

The girl grew to love the bird.

As time passed, the girl wondered if it truly was a bird at all. The seagull seemed too intelligent, too human. 

The girl had heard many stories of curses, people turned into animals, and she wondered if they were true. She knew from the stories that curses could be broken by true love’s kiss.

The seagull had been her companion for many years when the girl decided she had to know the answer to this secret. As she pet the bird and fed her fruit, she leaned down and kissed the top of the bird’s head.

Before her, the seagull transformed into a princess and the girl was shocked.

The princess let out a cry of joy and she kissed the girl on the lips.

“All this time!” the princess said. “I searched for true love in lords and knights and noblemen. But they could not love me. How could I have been so blind as to not see that my true love was right here all along?”

The princess and the girl wed and the princess returned to her kingdom as its rightful Queen, her new Queen and wife by her side.

They banished the evil warlock and they ruled the kingdom together with love and compassion.

They were happy for all of their days.

The End

* * *

Footnotes:

1. AP: Advanced Placement. This is a program where you take a “college level” course in high school and take a standardized national test at the end of the year, and colleges will accept certain scores for college credits or exemptions.

2. Pendejo: [Spanish] A derogatory term meaning idiot

3. Lexington Barbecue: A style of barbecue popular in the Western and Piedmont regions of North Carolina using a tomato and vinegar sauce. There is a barbecue rivalry in North Carolina between this type and the Eastern style.

4. Pitmaster: someone who is very skilled at pit barbecue (a method of smoking meat in a literal pit in the ground, often taking an entire day)

5. Eastern Carolina Barbecue: A style of barbecue popular in the Eastern region of North Carolina famous for full hog roasting and a vinegar only sauce. North Carolinians claim to be the originators of barbecue, telling a story about the tradition coming from an indigenous method of cooking a full deer on a spit. The author can neither confirm nor deny this claim.

6. Yankee: Within the U.S., Yankee typically refers to people from New England, though it could refer to Northerners in general

7. The Biltmore [Estate]: the largest estate in the U.S., owned by the Vanderbilts and located in Asheville. This is a major tourist attraction and the grounds are extensive, including a huge vineyard and horseback riding trails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: Grow Old With Me, by Sunny Sweeney  
> Bonus Song: North Cack, by G Yamazawa because I enjoy imagining Crowley white girl dancing to this song. (North Cack is short for “North Cacklalack” or “North Cackalacky”, which is slang for North Carolina.)
> 
>  _Who would bring a Confederate flag to a wedding?_ You might be wondering. Who, indeed, my friends. _Who, indeed._ If you are one of the people wondering this, I might take a gander and say you are not from the American South.
> 
> (To be clear, I (and Crowley) do not approve of Confederate flags ever anywhere, unless it is a museum display specifically condemning the horrors of white supremacy. #BlackLivesMatter.) 
> 
> This was the last chapter! Thank you all so much for joining me on this journey! It has been such a pleasure to share this story with y’all, and to have fun with this region that I love. 
> 
> Good news! Because I can’t let go, I am working on a Crowley POV one shot to go with this fic, so if you enjoyed this last chapter, be sure to keep your eyes open and/or subscribe to this series! Also, the first section of this chapter is associated with Chapters 3 & 4, if you want to revisit them, now that you know Crowley’s side of the story 😅.

**Author's Note:**

> [The Spotify Playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2Bcd21Uxlvc7NtK1nXMYLZ?si=pfO9idYZSSqr3AQ4S99OLg)  
>    
> If you like the setting of this fic, on June 23rd, I will be publishing the first chapter of my next fic, which also takes place in the NC mountains, because I have no shame. That one is a summer camp au for the [GO-Events](https://go-events.tumblr.com/) AU Fest, which I am very excited about, and which I promise, will be very different! Get a little preview [here](https://jamgrlsblog.tumblr.com/post/618869330113888256/i-am-so-excited-to-be-participating-in-the).
> 
> I am always happy to chat on tumblr ([jamgrlsblog](https://jamgrlsblog.tumblr.com/))


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